


throat to the stars, throat to the moon

by GwenTheTribble



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: AU where Spock has more of a support system than Amanda, AU where someone sees the effects on Spock and doesnt just let him struggle through his childhood, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Animal Death, Character Study, Cisswap, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Everyone is Scared of T'Pau, Female Spock, Girl!Spock, Internalized racism, Kid Fic, Multi, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Spock, Sarek loves spock ok, Teen Years, Vulcan Culture, Witches, but lets be real, character study elements, faux aristocracy, good dad sarek, i mean i dont have anything specific planned, mama loves the angst, oh look that racism popped up, probs racism, wizarding world in 23rd century, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2660174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwenTheTribble/pseuds/GwenTheTribble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock is a witch, a child of Grayson.   Her mother teaches her how to toss her head and her aunts teach her how to command.     Her father, though he doesnt realise it, shows her how to keep a face of stone.<br/>Jim is a wizard, child of no one in particular.    His mothers shows him how to rage.   His father shows him how to leave.</p><p>Chapter posting issue fixed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

                “Amanda? It starts in fifteen minutes.   Almost everyone’s here.”   Rebecca said, sweeping into the room that had been set aside as the place for the bride and her chosen few to prepare.    Amanda herself sat at the vanity, pinning the last sparking diamond to her carefully arranged hair.     The match was good.    Better than good.   She was bringing honor and power and connections to her family that few could boast of, and better yet it was a love match.     The Grayson family was the greatest pureblood line there was, for all their blood mixed these days.   The Grayson girls themselves were purebloods, their muggle heritage so far back and so legendary that it could be forgotten and forgiven by those that still held strong to the old prejudices.    The Grayson girls would always be the first to remind others of the diluted giants and veela blood that quickened in their veins.    

                Amanda was so lucky that her love match was Sarek of Vulcan.   When she had told her families council of him, they all approved.     She turned her head to admire her earrings.    Emeralds, a cherished relic from the days of the Black family.     That she was wearing them was one of the greatest honors her sister had ever given her.    “Who is it that hasn’t arrived?”  Elizabeth asked, boredom and indifference dripping from her tone.   Their younger sister had truly mastered the art of showing people how little she cared.  That was not to say she didn’t care, the elder sisters knew that she was genuinely curious as to who would dare be late to the wedding of the decade.    “The Tellaterites are late as usual and a few members of the Weasley clan.” Rebecca replied, brushing a bit more blush onto the pale Grayson skin.  

                A small pop and then the arrival of a house elf at the door made them all turn their heads.     “Sorry for interrupting misses but all the guests are here and you can be startin’ now.”   She said and bobbed a curtsy.      Amanda stood, her spine straight.   Her sisters, elder and younger, did the same.     The girls all left the room, wands tucked into pockets that all wixen clothing have.    Amanda put on the look that they had been taught since they could hold a spoon.   Eyes hooded, lips together, teeth apart.   It screamed that they just didn’t care about you or your problems.    Amanda’s dress was an off white, lace on the top with sleeves that went to the elbow.   It had a natural waist, with tulle circling around her.   Her long dark brown hair was brushed and oiled and curled to perfection, hanging to her waist.    She wore no veil.   She had wanted everyone to see her face and know that she was now above all of them.    

                The Zambini’s could marry any minister of magic they wanted, the Stark-Weasley’s could sink their claws into any position they could hope for.    Amanda Vulpecula Grayson was marrying Sarek of Vulcan.     The man was a veritable prince, and had more power than one.     She was untouchable.    She wanted them all to see the Black nose and the Malfoy brow, remind them that the blood in her veins was older than England.     This love of hers was her crowning achievement.    The violins began.    Somebody handed Amanda a small bouquet of crimson roses.    The flower girls go, perfect little cousins that had been coached over and over again.    Kathleen Wallace went first, blonde hair gleaming.   She wasn’t a friend, but she was an ally.  Someone to drink tea with and never tell your secrets to.    Then Nuru Uhura, Amanda’s Gryffindor friend, you don’t tell them your secrets either and they don’t tell you theirs, but only because secrets are for family.    Elizabeth goes next, her long neck ram rod straight, like she was wearing a crown.   Rebecca goes, her maid of honor, her family’s matriarch, her big sister, the burning jewel of high society.     Amanda last.    She can feel admiring gazes and pure envy.     Sarek waits for her, wearing formal robes and a gleam in his eye.    Their love is her triumph.   

                The officiator stands next to Sarek’s mother and matriarch of the house of Surak, T’Pau.     They had considered having the wedding on Vulcan but decided that Earth was more convenient for their guests.       Amanda and Sarek joined hands, the most intimate thing they would ever do in public.    T’Pau wrapped their hands in a red cloth and the officiator began with the vows.     “Sarek and Amanda Grayson, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?"  He asked.   “Yes” they both said, solemnly.      "Will you honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?"  

                “Yes.”  “I will.”  Amanda could feel Sarek’s mind pulsing against her own.    “Since it is your intention to enter into marriage declare your consent before God.”   I, Sarek, take you, Amanda, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”   Sarek said.   It had taken Amanda a month to convince him to keep the love part.   He meant it, but it was hard for him to say the word in front of so many.   “I, Amanda, take you, Sarek, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.” Amanda said.   The words were like a fervent prayer.   T’Pau placed her hands on Sarek and Amanda faces, initiating a meld.       She gets glimpses of a cool faced mother giving him even headed praise, the Vulcan desert, what it felt like to see a pair of chocolate brown eyes.   He got impressions of holding a baby with small arms and playing hide and seek amongst antiques, a hat calling Ravenclaw, a perfectly straight bang line with black eyes beneath it.  

                T’Pau eases them out of the meld, having used her superior telepathy to assist them in creating a bond.       Sarek slid a gold band onto her ring finger, the new bond thrilling.   “Amanda, take this ring as a sign of my respect and commitment.”  Amanda didn’t have a ring for Sarek due to Vulcan hand sensitivity.  

                “What god has joined together, let no man put asunder.”  The officiator said.   “I declare you bonded for life.”  In a wixen wedding they would have been showered in silver stars, however the statue of secrecy still stood. 

                The guests made species appropriate sounds of approval and happiness as Sarek offered Amanda his arm.      She took it and they walked back down the aisle, followed by guests.  

                The reception was sparkling and loud.    Starfleet officers and Ambassadors, Ministry officials and old families.    The Minister of Magic and the Federation president were there, eying each other fearfully, as though they both thought the other would mess up and give it all away.    The champagne had been imported from the ghosts of northern Russia and house elves had worked for days on the cake.    The bride was beaming, her whole family was celebrating in true Grayson form.     The Delacour children all step back from their sharp white toothed smiles.   The Scott cousins all steered clear of the fingernails that were so like claws.     This was the Grayson’s glory,   a renewal or reminder that they were the best of the best, and they could all scheme all they wanted they would only ever be second best.    

                “Oh darling sister of mine.    I must congratulate your new husband on managing to catch a woman so out of his league.”   Rebecca said to her and Sarek.   Amanda threw her head back and let peals of laughter join the cultured chatter around them.   Sarek sent a buzz of agreement with her sister over the bond.   She grinned at him.   Elizabeth was waltzing with her husband, the leader of the only colony of Wixen people.   A nice man, though Elizabeth made all the decisions behind the scenes.   Their two young boys had been sent to bed hours ago, as the party was going well past midnight.    Amanda already knew she wanted children, someone she could teach everything she knew to and send to Hogwarts.    Her children wouldn’t be the first hybrids to walk those hallowed halls.     Her family would lend protection against those that still held with the old hate.   

                Amanda smiled at Sarek and he smiled through the bond.    The band was playing another waltz when they began to dance.   All eyes were on them.

               


	2. Chapter 2

                Amanda was enormous.      Her belly was swollen to the size of a watermelon and Sarek reminded her often that she should endeavor to rest.   The child they had tried for for so long would be with them any day.    It was their third try, and the healers (of both wixen and Vulcan) and the doctors all said that she must not try again.    Her sisters often flooed over to sit with her while she lay in bed, her body and the _heat_ causing her to be uncharacteristically lethargic.    This child was strong, she could tell.    Sometimes she would even feel a thrilling sensation in the bottom of her belly that her personal healer told her was early magic.  It happened sometimes.  

                The child had finally stopped kicking in the eighth month, but before that it had started in the fifth month and not given her a moments rest.      Everyone commented in their own way that this was a good sign.   The Vulcan healers said that this suggested good health and appropriate development.     The old aunts who wrapped themselves in lace shawls said that this meant the child would be a traveler.      Rebecca nodded in approval and said that it meant they would be ferocious and spirited.       

                When she was not in the nursery or lying down she often found herself praying.    Wixen religions were often muggle religions with occult and celestial influences.      The Grayson’s themselves and much of English Wixen were a sect of Catholicism.     Earlier that day she had been walking in the garden and planning where her roses would be when she felt a…something.   It wasn’t painful.   She wasn’t sure what it was but it came from deep inside her belly.     She had felt it all day.  

Amanda kneeled before the small alter that had been built for her personal use in a corner of a little used room.     “Lord God, I humbly ask for your assistance in this great trial.     You have granted me hope after great sorrow and I can only ask that that hope is granted.     Please lord, just a healthy girl, that’s all I want.     Just a healthy girl.     One who can stand up for herself, lord god above please.   Just a strong healthy girl.”    She felt a different something, finally, after a whole day of the other something’s.   This one was painful.     Amanda let her lips curl into a smile.     “And if a daughter is too much to ask for, I would take a healthy child.   Amen.”   She prayed.   The small statues in front of her seemed to her more holy as they always did after prayer.     She had a jeweled cross, a Virgin Mary,   and a ceramic disk that depicted the constellations of earth.   There were two candles as well, and blew them out as she stood.      

“Beaky!”   She called to the empty room.   “Yes miss?”   Said the house elf who had arrived with a crack at her call.    “The baby is coming, fetch my bag.”   She half grunted.    The elf squeaked and disappeared.     Amanda waddled as quickly as she could towards the front door where she knew that Beaky would be waiting for her.   

“Here you is miss!”   The elf peeped, holding Amanda’s pre-packed bag up for her to see.    “I popped over to mister Sarek and told ‘im miss.”  

                “Thank you Beaky, if he calls tell him I drove myself to the hospital.”    People in labor weren’t supposed to apparate.     She took the bag to the elf’s cry of “yes miss!”  And waddled out the door.      Her mother would have snapped at her to try to be graceful but her mother wasn’t here, thank god.    

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

               

                _Where the hell was Sarek?!_ She screamed in her thoughts when the nurse told her to begin to push.    _Why wasn’t he here?!_   She directed all of her anger at him, putting it into her pushing.    She was slick with sweat and her carefully brushed hair had been soaked and blown about by desert winds.     She bore down when they told her to, only wanting it to be over so she could see her baby.    She screamed and she could hear it echo in the air.     The baby wailed.    How could a wail fill her heart with such relief and joy and love?    They handed the baby to her, wrapped in the thick knitted telepath-blocking blankets, meant to protect the new mind.     A daughter.    She smiled and cried over the perfect bundle.  

                Half an hour later, the baby ripped from her arms, for checks and diagnostics and complete cleaning,   and then returned,   Sarek arrived.     She wanted to be angry.   She was angry.   But she was also very tired and happy and she could feel the guilt and apologies and joy that he too was feeling, through the bond.     “She has your eyes.”   She really did.   Grayson eyes, Rebecca would have grinned, but Amanda was glad to think of them solely as her eyes for now.     “And your ears.”  She whispered, running her hand around the perfect little shell.    “I had a thought.   We could name her after one of the founders of this city.   Their name was Spock.”   Sarek said, neither of them looking at each other but at the baby they had tried so hard for.    “Your silence suggest displeasure.”  

                “No, no.   But isn’t that a boy’s name?”   Vulcan culture was very strict on name structure, and the girl really didn’t need one more thing to cause teasing.       “Traditionally yes, however evidence suggests that Spock was actually a woman using an assumed name posing as a man.    The name has become unigender.”   He explained.   

                “Spock.   Spock.   Hello Spock.”    She like the way her daughter’s eyes fixed on her when she said the name, and so smiled at Sarek in approval.   A nurse approached them, holding a padd.    "Here is the padd for use in filling out the birth certificate.”   He said.   “Have you already decided?”

                “Affirmative.”    Sarek nodded.     “Then I will assist you.     Clan name?”    The nurse said with little inflection.      “S’Chn T’Gai.”  Sarek replied.     “Given name?”    The nurse said typing.    “Spock.”  The child had Grayson eyes and her cousin’s nose.   Her hair was so dark it was like a black hole,   and Amanda thought of old portraits.       “Wait,”  she called.   “Give her a middle name and a surname.”   The nurse raised his eyebrows and typed, altering the forms.    “Middle name?”   Both Vulcan men looked at her with arched brows.   “Vulpecula.”  All the girls in the family had the middle name Vulpecula.   "Surname?”    “Grayson.”   Her name was just like her, half Vulcan, half Human. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the graysons do not own the house elves, because hermione granger helped to abolish slavery and create ways to respect house elf culture but also give them rights.  
> also sarek was in extremely important diplomatic subspace negotiations.


	3. Chapter 3

The baby lay in her cradle and Amanda sat in the Vulcan style rocking chair.     Her sisters had been to visit often.   Rebecca was already making suggestions for a proper christening.   Amanda was not stupid, she knew that the family would already be discussing the child’s place in the family and their society at large.   They would be desperate to see the unique little girl.    

            For now, she was tired and afraid.     She had received many death threats directed at herself and the baby.   The three day old infant that had only a tuft of black hair.   She just wanted to keep the child safe.   Sarek would encourage non-violence and extreme control to prove herself a real Vulcan.   Amanda feared that that would never be enough, however.   She wanted to encourage scraps with her cousins and show her how to slice people with her words.   She wanted to give her child every protection she could.

            The stars outside were bright, and Amanda heard the whoosh of the floo.   It had taken a few bribes before they would even consider making her main entrance fireplace floo capable.     She didn’t bother turning her head to see her sisters come through the door, they were the only ones allowed to use it so late.   She drew her dressing robe closer around her shoulders as even with excellent insulation the night time desert cold would creep into the house.   “She is so lovely”, Elizabeth whispered, peering over the crib.   “Everyone’s going to recognize those eyes.    As though the ears and the eyebrows aren’t enough to give her away.”   “I’m scared.” Amanda said quietly.  

            The beautiful sisters turned to their middle sister, and looked at her with understanding.   “How many?”   Rebecca asked.   “13.   2 from muggle, 6 from Vulcan, and 5 from ours.”   Amanda said.   She had read every letter over and over.     She kept getting terrified that there was some threat with a specific day or place, and she had simply missed it.   “Rats?”   Elizabeth inquired.   “3.   All dead.”   Amanda said.   They weren’t the first carcasses sent to her by owl.   They wouldn’t be the last.     Sarek had looked horrified with his eyebrows at the sight of his wife cooing to their newborn in her kitchen baby chair while she hung rats in the potions closet.     “Did you save them?   Print out the letters that were sent with padds?”   Elizabeth questioned.   “Of course, what do you think, a cursing?   Early illness? Death of all heirs?”   Amanda said, considering ways to destroy people’s lives.     “No.   There are better uses, with great irony.”   Elizabeth smirked.  

            She led them to the outside balcony and summoned a cauldron.   “I require 5 crushed moon beetles and a vial of spring water.    One of you can start dissecting and preserving the rats I suppose.” Elizabeth waved her wand with a languidly determined air and summoned a thick knitted over jacket.   “Make sure the waters cold as ice.”   She added.   The sisters did what she told them.   Rebecca may have been the dueler and Amanda may have been the charmer, but Elizabeth’s domain was potions.   The youngest sister kept her face still and gave the cauldron unwavering focus.  

            “Amanda did you save any of the glass from the time those people broke your front window?”   Elizabeth called, voice cutting through the cold air.   “I think so.   It’s probably on the shelf in the closet if I did.”   She replied, handing her phoenix tail feather.   “Bring it, and a pinch of dirt from that jar of dirt from where she was born.”  

            The potion was a bubbly maroon, and when Elizabeth put the glass and dirt in the color steadied to a lively shimmery cinnamon.     “Now what?” Rebecca asked, as they stood around the cauldron.   “Now we let it sit for a moon cycle and then add the rats and the letters.”   Elizabeth replied, stirring it calmly.    “Will it keep her safe?”   Amanda whispered.     “Not really, but that’s not what it’s for.   It’s meant to give the wearer some protection.   Nothing can keep this child in safety,   the centaurs would tell you that, if you asked.   It will simply offer a bit of luck.   Perhaps she will not catch an illness, perhaps someone will push her and she will not break her arm.   It is only for helping, not for safety.   I doubt this child will ever have safety.   I doubt that this child would ever desire safety.”   It was an ominous prediction to make, and the sisters shivered as the words tiptoed up their spines and into their ears.  

            None of them denied it, as the words felt certain and true to them.   Amanda desired to consult centaurs and ask seers if her child would ever have a gray hair on her head.   “Don’t start concerning with yourself with her entire life, Amanda.   We might have our hand in everything, but we don’t have the magic to know the future.   We don’t need to.   The child is here.   She is healthy.   The potion in that cauldron will spare her some pain.   That is all you need to think about right now.   Let us think of these things, for now.” Rebecca said, eyes dark in the shadows.   They slipped their hands in hers.   The older sister, the lion, straightening her spine and shaking her mane.   The younger sister, the crocotta, so cunning that she cannot be overcome by any weapon of steel.   The middle sister, the elephant, the thunder storm in the desert.     The baby lay in her cradle, and they knew not whether she would be a wildfire or a sheep.  

            Sarek had merely raised an eyebrow at them with weary acceptance when he found them in the kitchen the next morning.   The house elf was making them tea, and they all looked to have stayed up all night.   Amanda had been nursing the baby and cooing to her in an ancient tongue, twirling her wand and creating pretty shapes in the air.   When he had asked about the cauldron and what it contained, Amanda had merely told him that she was buying a little extra luck.  

            The child neared a month old, and doctors and healers and geneticists and all of science rejoiced over her health.   Those couples who were also trying so hard to have children of their own but were told they couldn’t because of their species had their hope renewed.   People protested and posted hateful things.   Amanda feared that Spock’s life would be a sad one.     Elizabeth and Rebecca came over every night and they stirred the pot.   On the last night, when there was no moon to diminish the light of the stars,   Elizabeth turned to them and said, “Pour your wishes for her into it.”   She took out her wand and waved it slowly, languidly, around the cauldron.   Rebecca did the same.   Amanda joined them.   Sarek stayed in the house.   Once he had understood that the magic was real and not a part of a cult, he had agreed that it was logical to utilize it.    He was still Vulcan however.   He did not like things that he did not understand how it worked.    

            Amanda began waving her wand.   “Safety.” She said.   “Health.” Elizabeth said.   “Love.” Rebecca said.   “Quick wits.” Amanda said, thinking of pointy ears and a blue and bronze tie.    “Silver tongue.” Elizabeth said, thinking of straight bangs and a green scarf.     “Daring.” Rebecca said, thinking of brown eyes and slanted eyebrows and a lion on a set of robes.   Elizabeth whispered in Latin to the potion, like an empress making a demand, like a mother screaming for her child, like a general sending soldiers to their deaths.  

            The potion turned to a winking ruby red and Elizabeth removed a small crystal bottle from her robes, it was on a black satin ribbon, and would have come down to rest on a normal sized woman’s breastplate.     Elizabeth ladled a few tablespoons of it into the small flat bottle, and sealed it with her wand.   Rebecca waved her wand and vanished the potion.   Elizabeth extended her hand to give it to Amanda and paused.    “I must remind you of this Amanda.   This won’t keep her safe like you want it to.   It won’t make her something that she wouldn’t have been already.   She won’t be able to carry it all her life.    This is luck and a bit of our magic, that’s all.   Don’t count on this.   Never count on this.”   The youngest sisters warning was menacing.   “I know.” Amanda told her solemnly, taking it from her.  

            The women went inside, and swept up the stairs.    Sarek was holding the baby, whose big trusting eyes were open and looking up at him.     Amanda approached them and undid a small gold broach from her dress, that she had pinned on that morning for just this purpose.     She met Sarek’s black eyes as she pinned the small bottle to the blanket.   She wasn’t old enough to wear it, that would come when she was older.   The baby cooed, not knowing that her family had taken its first step in her life to protect her.  


	4. Spocks First Race

            Four years later:

            “Hold my hand Spock, I don’t want to lose you.”   Amanda told the little girl.   It was her first time at the arena.   Spock was looking around at the finery of the place, though she was trying to keep an expression of calm on her face, as her father had been teaching her.     Amanda’s hand found Spock’s small hot one and held tightly.     The arena was filled with crowds that day, and it would be terrifying to lose Spock in such a place.   “Just a little further sweetie.   Our balcony is right over here.”   Amanda said to the eager child.    

            “Mother please hurry we will miss the races if you do not!” Spock said, her excitement betraying her.     Amanda was wearing rustling silk purple robes that nipped in at her waist and exposed the inside of her forearms.   Amanda merely smiled at Spock’s words and let herself be pulled.   Her daughters determined little feet and her own high heels pattering and clicking on the marble floors.   Other arena patrons smiled warmly and indulgently at Spock, who at four years old was quite pretty, though small for her age.    Spock was wearing a puffy pink dress that all of her aunts had thought was just darling.     The little girl, unlike completely human children, was willing to wear the white tights and shiny black shoes.   It was her first real time out amongst Amanda’s people, and she had wanted her looking her best.

            Amanda could hear the crowd cheering and sped up a little, passing golden arches that led to other families’ balconies.     The sheer curtains on every arch swirled little circles in the wind and Spock pulled on her hand determinedly.     Finally they came to the arch with fluttering white and sparkling gold sheer curtains and Amanda motioned to the beautiful statue girls to pull the curtains open and led the awe faced little girl out to the balcony.    

            The crowds roar filled the air as they passed through the noise obstructing charms.     Spock’s eyes were round and she hurried to a raised seat near the edge. Amanda smiled at her daughter and joined her, sitting in the chair next to her.     A statue boy with well-defined stone muscles approached them, and offered them drinks from a platter.   Amanda took the pumpkin juice and Spock carefully took the glass of kava juice that had been requested for her.  

            The arena around them was sun filled and at the bottom was a circling track.     Spock was younger than most children were, when they first went to see the races, but Amanda greatly loved the sport and wanted to share it with her daughter.   She wanted to take Spock to see a quidditch game as well.   “Ladies and gentlemen and mannerly people, the races are about to begin!” A booming voice announced, making the crowd roar loudly.     Amanda clapped excitedly and Spock, following her mother’s lead, put her small hands together delicately.  

            The gates of the arena opened and the charioteers began driving out, making the crowd even louder than before.     Amanda was on her feet, half leaning over the railway, cheering with the rest of them.   Spock stayed in her chair but her clapping has more sure.     The voice began announcing the names of the racers and their stats, and the charioteers horses stomped on the ground as their owners waved.     Amanda whistled shrilly and the voice began to count down from ten.    

            “Two, one, go!” The voice cried, and a loud sound signaled the horses to take off from the starting line, pounding the ground and running so hard and fast that some of the chariots and their riders were lifted off the ground.     Amanda cheered and Spock was on her feet.   The mother lifted the daughter up, helping her to see everything.   “Go! Faster!”   She screamed to one racer in particular.     Spock waved her hands, her father’s new lessons forgotten.   “Faster, hurry!” Spock cried, urging a racer with red gilt on their chariot and tan horses forward.    

            The horses rounded the rails and the charioteers once again lifted in the air.     The crowd was reduced to mindless screaming, caught up in the excitement and risk of this dangerous adrenaline fueled sport.   They rounded the rails again and a chariot pulled by large black horses pulled ahead.     The crowd screamed at this development.     The chariot was now completely ahead of the rest of the others, except for one aqua colored chariot that was tied with the black horsed chariot.   Amanda could hardly hear herself think and Spock was clapping as hard as she could.    

            They were neck and neck, and the sound of shattering glass joined the shouting as drinks and plates were knocked out of hands in the excitement.   The finish line was coming up and the black horses pulled forward at the last second.   The crowd howled and Amanda and Spock screamed with them.    

            The entire stadium was on its feet and flowers were thrown and marriage proposals shouted to the champion.   Amanda and Spock settled back into their chairs and took deep gulps of their drinks to sooth their hoarse throats.   The statue boy came forward and offered them treats on trays.   The voice shouted that another race would be beginning in ten minutes.     Spock grinned at her mother, logic forgotten for the afternoon.  

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this place just popped into my head and i just had to write about it.


	5. Chapter 5

            “Sprocket! Come down here!”  Amanda called up the stairs.     She heard the little feet pounding down the second story hall and stairs.     The girl traipsed down the stairs, coming to a halt in front of her, taking the longest strides her short legs could give.   “Yes mother?” Spock asked, cocking her head.   “Your aunts and uncles and cousins will be here any minute.   So I want to remind you to be good and listen to what your cousin Michael says and not to order    I-Chaya to maul your cousin Will when he says that you’re not as smart as him because he’s older.   It’s not true, but don’t do it.”   They really didn’t need another repeat of the last time.   I-Chaya hadn’t done it, but the six year old boy had still cried.   Spock nodded reluctantly, as the girl was very aware of her intelligence and in extension, the fact that not many other children her age were quite her equal, or that they even came close.   Amanda was secretly kind of proud of Spock telling her protector pet to rip her cousin’s throat out over the slight.   It showed she had daring.

            Spock was five and it was the first Christmas that Amanda’s family would be spending it on Vulcan.   “Is your room clean?” Amanda asked her.   “Yes mother.   Will I be allowed to participate in quidditch while they visit? I believe that I am old enough.” She asked hopefully.  

            Amanda pretended to consider this, mind flitting to the special childs broom she would be presented with when the family arrived.   “I think, if you promise to be very careful, you can play.   Can you promise me that Spock?”

            Spock nodded solemnly, her eyes looking very serious.   “Then you can play.”   Amanda told her with a smile.  

Spock’s eyes gleamed when she said “Thank you mother.” The little girl cocked her head as if listening to something.   “Mother I believe that our relatives have begun to arrive.” This statement was confirmed with boyish whooping and feminine laughter.  

“Well we had better go and greet them before Aunty Elizabeth decides to raid the potions cabinet.” Amanda grinned and held out her hand for Spock to hold.   The gesture was acceptable until Vulcan children were eight or so, when their hands fully developed all of their telepathic capabilities. Of course, it was really only immediate family members and fellow children who could do it, and even still, it was like a human relative hugging a human child.

Spock took the offered hand and walked with her mother to the entry hall fireplace where various relatives were already gathering with the house elves popping in and out, offering refreshments. The three boys weren’t there and as Amanda couldn’t hear anything breaking she assumed they had been sent outside. Sarek was at work, but would come home to take part in the festivities at the days end.

            “Hello everyone!” She greeted cheerfully, glad to have the whole family with her this year. Usually she and Spock and occasionally Sarek would attend the December holidays at Amanda’s childhood home, now the residence of Rebecca.   However this year Spock’s schooling had interfered as Vulcan had no winter holidays or winter itself to have ever become a cultural reason to have school breaks at that time. Of course, Vulcan schools operated year round, offering one or two week breaks regularly.   It had been Elizabeth who suggested, in a tone that suggested that the act of speaking itself was below her, why didn’t they simply hold the celebrations on Vulcan.  

The ambassador’s house had been large to begin with but Amanda had made significant changes when they had wed. This included the fireplace, potions cabinet, broom closet, wards, a room for family business and tutoring Spock, and many guest bedrooms, all magically held within the house, so that no one on the street would ever know how large the house had become. Amanda, an avid quidditch fan, had also taken pains with a concealment charm for the back yard, so that she and the children could fly on their brooms without fear.

            Spock stood quietly at her mother’s side, continuing to hold her hand.   Amanda’s dark haired cousin Charlie smiled conspiratorially at Spock, who made an expression that might have been the hint of a shy smile.   Amanda loved Sarek, and wanted Spock to have access to both cultures, but she couldn’t help but crow with delight. For Graysons, everything was a competition, and Graysons were winners.

            “Hello there Spock! Are you excited for Christmas?” He asked cheerfully.

            “Hello Uncle Charlie. My father says that while I am still of the age that feeling emotions and occasionally expressing them is still acceptable, I should endeavor to not inform others of them.   Therefore no, I am not excited for gift giving, large meals with special foods, quidditch, or decorations.”   Spock told him solemnly, and he chuckled because the girl is so very clever in the way that she joked with him, you would hardly know she was five.

            “Don’t forget your special present!” Charlie exclaimed with a wink to Amanda.

            This stopped Spock from whatever she was going to say. Her eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch and she looked at her mother for an explanation. “Special present? I do not understand.”

            Charlie faked astonishment and drew Spock’s attention back to him. “Don’t tell me no one’s told you about the special present!” Spock shook her head in wide eyed silence. “No? Well perhaps you’d better just.. Open it!”

            A house elf popped in with a mid-sized rectangular wrapped present and handed it to Amanda quickly. Spock’s eyes were on the package now, childs instinct kicking in.

            Amanda grinned and let go of Spock’s hand to kneel in front of Spock. The whole family was smiling indulgently. Amanda offered it to her and the small girl took it, and the box was about as tall as she was.

            Spock held it and started tearing at the corner hesitantly before stopping. “Mother, is opening a seeming Christmas present early not considered rude?” She asked.  

            “No Spock! This present is a tradition! Every Grayson child gets one at your age.” Amanda assured. This seemed to satisfy the child because she began tearing away the paper in earnest, snatching off the bow and ripping the paper off in a state that seemed to near a frenzy, causing the family to chuckle warmly at their littlest Vulcan. Within seconds she revealed the toy broom box, for ages six and up, and went still before turning to her mother.

“My own broom?” she asked in a hushed tone.

            “Your very own broom.” She nodded with a smile that broke into a grin when her daughter threw her arms around her neck in a hug, broom squished between them.

            “Thank you. May I go outside and play with it now?” Spock asked with wide eyes.

            “Of course! Be careful!” She added at the little girls back as she raced outside to show her gift to her cousins.  

            She sat there for a moment before standing and looking at Charlie. “Well what are you doing just standing there? Go and fetch the camera!”

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one. sorry for christmas in february.


	6. Chapter 6

            Spock rushed outside into the hot desert air to see her cousins already in the air.   The childrens quidditch pack was lying unpacked and discarded, with the three boys playing with the quaffle and bludgers and a golden snitch, charmed to be reusable.  

            The boys were shouting, as boys at play do, and Spock hurried to scan the boxes label before she got on her broom and joined the game. On the rare occasions she had been allowed to play, it had always been on a borrowed broom, and she could never play for long, because the person who owned the broom would always whine after a little while.  

            She zoomed up into the air, meeting the boys where they were floating, about ten feet over the gardens. If she looked straight down and squinted she would be able to see the built in cushioning charm that hovered just above the ground.   “Hello Spock” from nine year old Jaimy, the middle brother and the quietest of the boys.

            “Hi Spock! Is that a new broom?” Will asked in amazement, though he had been riding his own broom for more than a year.  

            “Yes. The label states that it is the latest Krum beginners model. It is capable of going up to ten miles an hour.” She informed them before asking them shyly “May I play quidditch with you?”

            “Of course! You can be seeker. Will’s rubbish at it.” Michael assured her before either of the boys could speak. Michael was eleven, home from Hogwarts where he was a Slytherin, and had been told that he was to protect Spock until she could do it herself since she was born when he was five, because Spock was a very special little girl, the kind of special that made people angry.   Michael hadn’t understood it then, but he did now.   He heard the mutters and he knew she did to.   It was only their family’s status that kept those that would like to do more than mutter and hiss from doing so.

            Spock did an almost smile with her eyes at him, both ignoring Will’s shout of outrage. “Will, you be beater. Jaimy you’re keeper. I’m chaser.” Michael announced, and though Will grumbled, they all began to play.   Spock knew the basics of flying, her mother had made sure of that, and she had the home field advantage. She was made for heat, had higher stamina, sensitive hearing, and eyes made for looking at endless sand dunes and red dirt.  

Spock enjoyed the sensation that being up so high and flying quickly gave her, especially when it was her controlling everything she did. Her long hair blew around behind her, and her robes were difficult to maneuver. Spock resolved to wear something more appropriate when next she flew.

She caught the snitch fifteen minutes in. Not particularly gifted, but also not untalented.   The young girl held it up triumphantly, calling to her cousins that she had it, and holding it out for them to see when they flew over.

The snitch didn’t struggle in her hands, as a real one would have, but instead waited patiently to either be released to begin another game or returned to the storage box.   Spock presented it to Michael who grinned. “I figured you’d do good. You’re a Grayson. Did you know that the quidditch coach at Hogwarts still talks about how good of a Chaser your Mum was?”

This made the little girl do another almost smile at her favorite older cousin.   “I was not aware my Mothers skill was so well spoken of.” The boys were used to her formal way of speaking, and Michael was opening his mouth to reply when Spock’s Mother came outside and called for them all to hurry up and come inside, _didn’t they know that they would get heatstroke if they stayed out to long?_

The children all groaned, even Spock giving a little huff of annoyance, but all returned to the ground. Jaimy and Will hurried to put the gear back in the trunk before following Michael and Spock inside, where their Mothers and Aunts were chastising them and tell them to go wash their hands and change their clothes, _they couldn’t be looking like beggar children at Christmas dinner!_

Spock’s keen hearing picked up the sounds of her Father returning home and greeting her Mother’s large family.   She was in her room, taking off the school uniform robes she had put on earlier that day, instead putting on the dark blue dress her mother had laid out for her.

            She slipped on the frilly white socks and shiny black shoes as well as quickly tying a matching blue bow into her hair after brushing it, and adjusted her potion necklace that her Mother had told her she must not ever take off. Vulcan culture, though logical, still appreciated the aesthetically pleasing. The only time they expressed disdain for it was when it was impractical for the given situation. The dress and shoes were fairly practical for a formal holiday dinner with her family. Spock hurried downstairs again, wishing to show her Father her new broom before dinner. She knew her Father wasn’t a wizard, like Spock was a witch, so he couldn’t _really_ understand what it was like, but he seemed to understand enough that he would know that getting your first quidditch broom was a very important day.

            The closer Spock got to the dining room, the more she heard the tinkling and booming laughs of her maternal family. Her ears only just managed to detect her Father’s even tone.   She made herself slow her pace before entering the dining room, knowing that her Father would not approve of this, as there was no emergency, and therefore no reason for her to hurry.

            “Greetings Father.” Spock told him when he turned his attention to her.

            “Greetings Spock-kam. I understand you have been given an early gift?” He greeted.

            “Yes Father. The Krum beginners model. It’s the best broom in its class.” She informed him, working to keep the excitement and pride off her face. Her Mother and Aunts and Uncles had all told her that the emotional control he was teaching her would be a useful skill, and she should learn it, even if it seemed that maybe when she was older she wouldn’t use it.

            Spock wanted to honor the Vulcan way. But she also wanted to honor the Human way, the Wixen way. So she learned her lessons in logic, wore the clothes, spoke the language, learned how to play the instruments, and tried very hard to be as poised and controlled as her Father.

            She also sat with her Mother while she made potions, studied the family tree, attempted magic at every opportunity, visited Diagon Alley, wore the clothes, and knew she would eventually attend Hogwarts.

            Her Mother’s family, with their long swan necks, all gathered around the table and sat down, cousins pulling out chairs for elderly aunts, and the Spock and her cousins all hurried to their proper place at the children’s end of the table.

            Spock allowed both of her eyebrows to rise at the food suddenly appearing, something the elves only did for special occasions. The children already had food on their plates when they had appeared, the adults and elves way of attempting to ensure that they ate something other than mashed potatoes and gravy.

            The boys and girl all dug in, Will especially. Michael and Jaimy and Spock managed to remember the manners that had been drilled into them, knowing that an occasional adult would glance over at them to assess their skills.   Spock, taking a small bite of her glazed carrots, considered the ages of those at the table. Spock was the youngest, at five.   She would be turning six in a few months, and begin her formal schooling. Will was six and three quarters as he reminded everyone constantly. Jaimy was nine, though his personality seemed older. Michael was just eleven, but his Hogwarts student status made him seem far older. Too old for some things.

            “Michael? Are you not old enough to be seated with the adults?” She asked curiously, shifting away from Will to protect her dress from his honeyed ham.  

            “Don’t you know you have to be fourteen?” Michael questioned, not unkindly.

            Fourteen? She had never heard of this rule and she told him so. “Negative.”

            “Yeah. You have to do your presentation. That’s a big interview. They strip you down to your underwear behind a screen, cast measuring charms, take note of any scars or birthmarks, make sure you’re healthy. After that you take an exam. They test you on your education and your magic. Then the family council asks you a bunch of questions in front of the rest of the family and you have to answer. If it all goes well you get a party.” Michael explained.

            Spock had never heard of this. “Do all Humans do this or only Wixen?” She asked her first question, already sorting through all of her queries.

            “I think it’s only Graysons who do it, but the other big families might do it too.” He answered, refilling his plate.

            “What happens if all does not go well?” Spock questioned, trying very hard to not let her fear seep into her words. What if her family decided that the half-breed wasn’t good enough for them?

            “I think they try to fix it. Like if the charms say you’re not healthy they try to figure out what’s wrong. It’s all to make sure that the Grayson’s are always up to par. ‘Pureblood’ families, in the past, have been brought to ruin because they weren’t interacting with their children properly. Like our own ancestors the Blacks. At the end of their glory days they were riddled with inbreeding, and they splintered off because individuality wasn’t encourage to strengthen the family. But the reason for the presentation is so that the council can know all about our strengths and weaknesses. It’s to keep us strong.” Will explained to the little girl, helping to ease her worries, allowing her to ask the most pressing question of all.

            “They test you while you are still in only your undergarments?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they dont actually have them go through that nerve racking experience in their underwear. They give them a robe.  
> The purpose of the presentations is to keep the family strong, it is also to help the children themselves. It is a chance to spot health problems and possible abuse, because the children are also questioned on that. Its not like a 'if they dont do good they get kicked out' sort of thing. It really is to the benefit of everyone. For example, if they dont to very well on one portion of the exam a tutor is hired in that subject(s). All houses are perfectly fine because they recognise that having people from all houses is a strength. The family council is a few trusted respected adults who manage the family. Their money, their assets, their homes, their interests. One person is chosen to lead that council, and therefore the entire family. In this case it is Rebecca.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part one of two

The other girls were cruel to her, their words stinging as much as their slaps. This time it had been T’Pring to corner Spock, taller than the girl and flanked by her two lakys, T’Peda and T’Parshi.   They had hissed their cruelty in even, measured tones, telling her exactly what they thought of her father, her looks, her intellect, her emotionalism, and her worth as a living being. Spock tried. She tried to maintain logic. She tried to make herself deaf to them. She tried to let them make the first physical move. But when they had said what they had said about her ‘stupid emotional’ mother and her dirty blood, she just couldn’t take it. It wasn’t the first time. It would hardly be the last.

            Her mother hurried to pick her up, spine straight and walking with a cold fury that many of these instructors and school children had never encountered. Spock’s cordial rested on her bare stomach, tucked beneath her robes. The little girl sat outside the Chief Instructor’s office, feet barely brushing the floor. Her nose was bleeding, her eye was probably going to be black, and she had scratch marks on her face, the school healer’s assistant not having had the chance to apply the dermal regenerator, as she was still seeing to T’Pring’s bald patches and missing tooth.

            “Spock! What happened? Who did this?” Her mother demanded upon seeing Spock’s injuries. Her mother examined them quickly, grasping her chin.  

            “It was my fault Mother. I allowed myself to depart from logic.” She said quietly, not wishing for her mother to cause a scene.

            “Who started it Spock?” Her mother asked sternly, well aware of the kind of girl her daughter was.

            “I began the physical altercation, Mother. I am the one at fault.”

            “It is admirable to see a child so willing to accept the punishment for their mistakes, even when their… examples, are not as commendable.” The Chief Instructor said coolly, emerging from his office, along with a couple who must have been T’Pring’s parents.

            Her mother turned to them imperiously and countered, “Admirable only when they truly are at fault.” _Or there is something to be gained_ , Spock added mentally, remembering her maternal family’s lessons.

            “Perhaps, however that is of no relation to this.” The Vulcan women replied.

            “What makes you certain that your daughter is so wholly innocent?” Spock watched her mother and the way her spine, always extended to the full length, seemed to arch in a fighting stance, though the rest of her body gave no other indication that something had shifted.

            “T’Pring has been raised in an environment of reason, appropriate to her species. The same could hardly be said for your child.” The other man stated, eyes cold.

            “I do not yet know what your daughter said, but I assure you that my child does not simply begin fights. Perhaps you should consider that your child may have overheard you speak as you just did and adopted your bigoted beliefs as her own?” Spock sat rigidly, well aware that this was her mother, blunt like she had never seen her.   She was more accustomed to a quiet approach, a cunning approach, but she had to admit that this was also effective. T’Pring’s parents visibly jerked, if only barely. As the adults stared at each other, seeming to be sizing their opponents up, T’Pring, accompanied by the school healer’s assistant, arrived. The assistant departed after nodding at the Chief Instructor.

            Spock’s injuries stood in direct contrast to the other girl’s now healed face. Of course, even without a dermal regenerator, Spock would be completely without hint of injury in just a week or two, her young magic and trusty cordial speeding it along. The older girl hardly looked at Spock as she went to join her parents, giving off an air of having her nose up, especially as she passed Spock’s mother, making the younger girl want to strangle her.  

            “T’Pring, report to your Chief Instructor what happened,” the Vulcan woman said, the same imperious air about them. Spock, who had been watching members of her family, maternal or paternal, who actually deserved to walk with such an air recognized that they were cheap, their pridefulness undeserved. Thinking this, Spock straightened her spine till it was ramrod straight. Even if she was the least of either lineage, she would not be more shameful than she already was by way of existence.

            “T’Peda, T’Parshi, and I were conversing with Spock when she attacked me without provocation. I believe she is feral, mother.” T’Pring lied, predictably.

            “Is this true Spock?” The Chief Instructor asked, like the question was merely a formality.

            “It is true I attacked her, Instructor Sporek. However, the fight, while irrational, was not unprovoked. T’Pring, T’Peda, and T’Parshi all approached me and began insulting me.” She looked the instructor in the eye when she said this, her brown eyes holding the nearly black ones.

            “She is lying. I do not wish for our child to attend school with such a dangerously aggressive girl.” T’Pring’s mother tried to protest.

“What were their insults to you?” Sporek queried, knowing that he had better ask and really consider who he was going to believe, lest he faced the wrath of the S’Chn T’Gais.  

            “They called me many names referring to my multi-species status, they claimed I am mentally deficient, and that my face is hideously flat. They also made comments about my parents.” Spock recited, already mentally distancing herself from what she’d heard. She’d heard it all before. She’d hear it again. Logically, it was healthier to attempt to forget.

            Instructor Sporek appeared almost conflicted. Both Spock and her mother were aware that he would like to punish Spock for this, but he was also very aware that the S’Chn T’Gais were arguably the most powerful family on Vulcan, and that either Ambassador Sarek or his mother, Clan Leader T’Pau, could make his life very unpleasant. He did not even know about the Graysons, who would not heed pesky things like laws.

            Spock could see her mother fix him with a stare, the kind that pinned you to the ground until you conceded to her demands. Chief Instructor Sporek was a hard man, with no desire to give S’Chn T’Gai Spock or her emotional human mother anything they wanted, but her mother was much scarier than he.

He held her gaze for only a few moments before he conceded, dropping his eyes.

            Her mother kept her face impassive, but Spock knew that she had all but won by the way she switched her gaze to T’Pring’s parents as though she didn’t even know the Chief Instructor was there.

            “It is likely that T’Pring and her companions did provoke Spock, considering past occurences. Neither girl will be punished.” Sporek said, barely giving the Vulcan salute before retreating to his office.

            The parents remained standing.

            “If you would like to continue this discussion, please have your clan mother contact ours. You may be aware that T’Pau is a very powerful touch telepath, and I assure you that with her presiding we would be absolutely certain of exactly what happened. Excuse us.” Her mother said coldly, almost daring them to involve the most powerful Vulcan touch-telepath alive. Spock’s grandmother was elderly and petite, but very intimidating.

            Spock followed after her mother, not allowing herself to look back, but knowing that they would not further protest.

            The girls had called her very cruel things, and Spock believed some of them were true. It was illogical to argue with the truth. But what they had said about her parents were slanderous lies, and Spock would not stand for it. As she climbed into her booster seat in the hovercar, Spock once again resolved to be as least shameful to her families as possible.  

            Her mother glanced back at her in the rear view mirror, eyes crinkling with a smile.

            “What are you thinking about so seriously my love?” She asked.

            Spock considered, gathering her thoughts, before replying, “Both your family and father’s is deeply entrenched in tradition, and I am the first child to not be of one species. I would prefer to minimize the negative effects of it.”

            “First? Honey, you’re hardly the first mixed Grayson! Did you not know?” Mother exclaimed.

            Not the first mixed Grayson? Surely not!

            “Negative, mother. I was not aware of any previous mixed species relations resulting in children.” Spock worked to keep an appearance of neutrality, not wishing to fail twice in one day.

            “There’s been so much! Albeit, not in recent years, but none the less, the Grayson’s aren’t truly pureblooded. I knew we should have started your lessons sooner. As soon as we get home, you get some family history,” Her mother decided firmly.


	8. Chapter 8

Spock shivered slightly stepping into the house, her mother’s air conditioner keeping the place slightly cooler than comfortable when Spock first stepped in as always.

            “Beaky!” Her mother called, the house elf already arriving with a crack by the half of her name. 

“Yes miss?” Beaky squeaked at the blood on Spock’s school uniform. 

“Spock won’t be returning to school for the rest of the day.  Please help her change her clothes and do your best with those stains, I know Vulcan blood gets in fabric and practically has to be cursed out.  And get her something for her nose and those scratches? Please?” Her mother requested of the elf.  Beaky squeaked her agreement.  “Spock, when you’re done getting changed, come down to the living room, I’ll fix that eye for you.”  Her mother said briskly before nodding to Beaky to take Spock. 

“Come along little miss.” Beaky said, leading Spock up the stairs.  Spock was finally bigger than Beaky, who was tall, for a house elf.  Beaky began pulling out clothes for Spock in her room, finally deeming a set of casual navy robes good enough and neatly tucking the rest of the clothes back in drawers and closet.  “I’ll help you with your buttons.”  Beaky said, popping around to the back of Spock and undoing the three buttons of her uniform.  The black tunic slipped of her slim shoulder and crumpled to the ground around her feet.  Spock stepped out of the tunic, leaving her only in her white undergarments. 

Beaky helped her with the robes before disappearing and returning instantly with a crack, a satchel in her hands.  “Here you is, little miss. Let me clean off that blood.” Beaky had doused a cloth with a magical cleaner and disinfectant, helpful for getting blood off, and healing injuries.  It made the cuts on her face feel very hot, but within minutes Spock could feel the tug of her skin knitting together.  “Your hair, little miss.  Let Beaky fix it.” Beaky piped, already pushing Spock to sit at the desk and undoing Spock’s braid.  Beaky brushed it out gently before tugging Spock down off the stool and telling her to run downstairs.  “Your mum’ll be waitin’ for you.”

“Thank you, Beaky.”  Spock told her as the elf snatched up the uniform. 

“No need to thank me little miss!”  She replied, before disappearing with a crack.

Spock hurried down the stairs but composed herself before slipping into the living room, her mother already waiting with a salve.  I-Chaya laid on the rug, but roused himself to shuffle closer to Spock. “Here you are my sprocket! And looking much better, too.  Let’s get rid of that shiner, and then we can start the lesson.”  Her mother slipped her hand in deep pocket of her robes, Vulcan today, and pulled out a tin of Bruise Away.  Spock sat stilly as her mother gently swiped the cream onto her eye.  “Aright.  Now, the family.”  Mother gestured at the tapestry on the wall.  It had over five hundred years of the family.  Spock and her cousins were on the bottom, being the youngest.  She had seen this many times.  “The Grayson’s are descendants of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, who were the pillar of pureblood wixen society for three centuries.  Do you know why they ended?” Mother paused to ask. 

“They failed to adapt.  The House of Black believed in pureblood supremacy, and refused to procreate with non-purebloods.  This eventually led to inbreeding, which led to infertility. By the time of the first wixening war, there were relatively few pureblood families in England and the majority of earth left.  This number was reduced even further by the first wixening war, and then the second.  Very illogical.”  Spock answered.  She had been tutored on the basics of wixen history and how it pertained to her family. 

Mother beamed proudly before continuing. “Very good.  Yes, the by the time of the first war, the Blacks had only two male heirs.  They were brothers, Sirius and Regulus Arcturus.  Sirius was the elder, and was sorted into Gryffindor, this, along with his association with muggleborns, soon led to his disownment from the family.  He was cursed off the original tapestry, but he and many others were restored during the reformation period between the end of the second wixening war and earth’s first contact day.  Sirius was friends with James and Lilly Potter, the parents of Harry Potter.  He was Harry’s godfather, and died several years later protecting him in a duel with Bellatrix Lestrange.”

Spock nodded, she knew who Harry Potter was and what he had done. 

“Regulus was sorted into Slytherin.  He publicly upheld the belief in Pureblood supremacy and joined the death eaters when he became of age.  However, he changed sides and betrayed Lord Voldemort, shortly before his death.  Both brothers died childless, and the surname Black ended there.  However, they had three cousins.”  Her mother gestured to the three sisters, all beautiful.   “The eldest, Bellatrix, died childless, in a duel with Molly Weasley.  The second sister, Andromeda, married a muggleborn and was disowned by her family.  She had one child, the war hero Nymphadora Tonks, also killed by Bellatrix.  The third daughter, Narcissa, married Lucius Malfoy, the heir to a large pureblood fortune.  They had one child, Draco Malfoy, who married Astoria Greengrass.  They were the parents of Scorpius Malfoy, who married Eva Zambini.  Ms. Zambini was part Veela.”  Her mother pointed to Draco and Astoria, and then swept her hand back up to Nymphadora.  “Nymphadora Tonks married Remus Lupin, a halfblood werewolf who was also friends with Sirius Black and the Potters.  They had one child before they died, Teddy Lupin, who was a halfblood metamorphmagus, who married Victoire Weasley, a pureblood who had an active Veela gene, inherited from her great grandmother.  Their daughter Antoinette Lupin, married Scorpius Malfoy’s son, Rigel Malfoy.  They had Archer Malfoy, who married Portia Abbott, a halfblood who was a quarter giant.  They had Pandora Malfoy, a metamorphmagus, who married Dorian Avery, a pureblood.  They had Miranda Avery, who married Israel Grey, a muggle.  They had Juliet Grey, a halfblood, who married Ariel Patterson, another halfblood.  They had Ophelia Grey-Patterson, a halfblood metamorphmagus, who married Atlas Grayson.”  Spock watched riveted as her mother described the generations of mixed breeding.  “Atlas was the son of Charles Grayson and Amanda Abbott.  Charles was the son of Pollux Grayson and Fredrika Weasley, a halfblood.  Pollux was the son of Adonis Grayson and Natalia Chekova, who were mostly pureblooded.  Fredrika was the daughter of Jacob Weasley and Annie Wallace, a halfblood and a muggleborn respectively.  Now, returning to Atlas Grayson and Ophelia Grey-Wolf, who had Orion Grayson.  Orion married Callidora Rosier, and had three children.  Rebecca Grayson, Amanda Grayson, and Elizabeth Grayson.”   Spock watched her mother finally gesture to the portrait of Spock. 

Spock glowed under her mother’s gentle smile, and listened attentively as she said; “We are just as mixed as we are pure, Spock. I know that statement may seem illogical, but it is the only way we can think to explain it. Don’t concern yourself with the idea of sullying either family lines, only concern yourself with being a strong woman.  Surely this will bring pride and honor to both lines.” Spock felt almost lifted by her mother’s words.  This was her path to honor her clan and her family.  But strength in logic or emotion? 

Spock left her question unasked.  She had much to think on.  She would have to consider her paths, and the paths that had led to her creation.  She nodded solemnly to her mother, utilizing her father’s training.  Mother beamed at her, as though she had complete faith in Spock’s ability to make her families proud. 

“Now, let’s start dinner shall we?”  Mother suggested.  “I’m making your favorite!” Spock nodded.  She stood calmly and followed her mother into the kitchen, I-Chaya lolling, where she began helping to wash things and putting them in the pot.

Mother hummed as she set the soup to simmer, turning to Spock and clapping her hands. 

“That’s finished! Your father will be home soon, but until then, why don’t you go outside and play with I-Chaya?”  She suggested, making the sehlat perk his ears at his name.  Spock nodded and thanked her mother before going to the broom closet and taking her Krum model. 

“Come I-Chaya.”  She called, her protector pet trotting after her.  She exited the kitchen through one of the several doors that led to the gardens, the hot breeze hit her as she exited the cool house.   She walked down the garden path until she reached the meditation area, a small place her parents had set aside so that Spock and her father could clear their minds in nature, if they chose.  It was small and the stone flooring was even, surrounded by aesthetically appealing plants native to Vulcan.  She mounted the broom and lifted off the ground, several feet in the air.  I-Chaya flattened his ears and made a displeased sound in the back of his throat.  Her sehlat disliked her flying, as it made him unable to reach her and therefore protect her.  He stalked the ground below her, pitifully mewling for her to return to his territory of defense against all that would harm her.  “Calm yourself I-Chaya.  Flying is a non-harmful activity when proper safety precautions are taken.”  She assured him, though logically she knew that he could not truly comprehend what she was saying, she had read about studies that clearly showed that sehlat’s understood tone.  She tilted broomstick in such a way that she went higher and higher, I-Chaya now pawed the ground,  anxious for her to return. 

Spock was even with the tops of the trees.  She could see into her second story bedroom window.  She rose a little higher, until she could almost see over the roof.  She looked straight up to the shimmering green haze that hung above the house, shielding it from muggle eyes, approximately forty feet above where Spock hovered, already thirty feet above the ground.  Technically, she was not permitted to fly this high. 

She urged the broomstick higher, aware of the trouble she would be in if she was caught.  Spock’s feet dangled off the broom, the wind rose as she climbed higher.  Her hair floated slightly, and now she could see the front yard of the house across the street.  She could see into the gardens of the houses on either side of her.  She rose even higher, until the green haze grew stronger, to inform her of its proximity.  Until she was so high that the top of her head was almost in the haze.  I-Chaya was tiny beneath her.  Spock could not hear his cries of distress, though she was certain that he was making them. 

She twisted her head behind her until she could see the desert, long stretches of red dirt.  Above, the sun burned at her neck.  When she was at the very limits of her mother’s wards, she dropped.  Negative, she nosedived, straight towards the ground, her childs hands holding onto the broom, the brooms child safety measures holding onto her.  She pulled up, hard, brushing the tops of the trees, holding back the whoop at the back of her throat.  The broom made sweeping curves, Spock occasionally urged the broom to dip and then climb again, sending her plummeting.  She wanted to squeal in excitement, but kept her mouth firmly shut, not wishing her rule breaking to be discovered.  This was a game Will had shown her.

When she climbed once again to the limits of the wards, she looked out to the street.  The sun was getting lower, the evening was approaching.  A hover car appeared over the hill, and pulled into the Ambassador’s homes garage.  Her father.  She dove again, this time not bothering with the playful loops and twists.  Spock urged the broom forward, finally reentering her permitted limits.  She slowed, evening out until she was settled back onto the flat ground of the meditation area.  The tips of her toes were just brushing the smooth stones when her mother stuck her head out of the kitchen door. 

“Your father is home Sprocket! Come inside and wash up, dinner is almost ready.”  She called, Spock already dismounting.  I-Chaya hurried forward, he followed at Spock’s heels with relief.  Spock deposited her broomstick in the closet, next to her mother’s old racing broom.  She hurried to the kitchen sink, which was too tall for her.  Spock searched for her stool, which was tucked under the sink but which was nowhere to be found.  She almost huffed, not liking the dry dust on her face and arms.  The annoyance and discomfort welled inside her, and Spock felt her feet lift off the ground for the second time that day.  This time, instead of feeling that she was resting on the object that was moving, she felt almost weightless, rising through the air until she could reach the sink easily.  She concentrated hard on remaining in the air.

She utilized the sink, cleansing herself of the dirt and grit.  She scraped her nails against the dust that coated her knuckles, and wiped off her face.  She had finished she shut off the sink and willed herself to return to the ground.

When Spock turned, her mother and father were standing in the doorway, watching her.  Mother was smiling, and father raised one of his eyebrows, but did not seem to disapprove. 

Mother clapped once.  “Alright, dinner is ready, Sarek, get bowls and utensils.  Spock, get the bread and napkins.”  The father and daughter obeyed, moving around each other.

            The table set, the small family sat down to plomeek soup and fresh baked bread, bought that day at the market place. 

            Father ladled soup into Spock’s bowl while mother tore off a piece of bread for her.   Plomeek soup was her favorite meal, and she quietly savored the spiciness.  Traditionally, Plomeek soup was meant to be consumed in the morning.  However, Spock’s mother did not enjoy soup in the morning, of any sort, and they had re-designated the meal for midday and evenings. 

            “Spock.  I see that your… abilities are progressing at an appropriate pace.  Have you reached any particular milestones that I am not yet aware of?”  Her father asked calmly, as always. It seemed that mother had requested that he not speak to her about the most recent altercation, at least, not at dinner.  Spock was grateful, but kept her expression neutral. 

            “Negative father, however, I did receive a lesson on Grayson family history today.”  She offered, using her fork to dip her bread in the soup. 

            Father nodded, as though for her to go.  She did.  “I learned much about the past mixed breeding that occurred.”  Spock offered, looking at her parents. 

            “Spock was under the impression that she was the first of either family to not be solely one group.  I set her straight.”  Mother told father, who nodded and carefully ate his soup. 

            “As today you have learned about the heritage you received from your mother, perhaps we may continue my tutelage in Vulcan culture?”  Her father suggested.

            “I am pleased to learn about all parts of my heritage father.”  She told him truthfully. 

            Father nodded.  “We will begin after dinner.”  Spock finished her soup and finished the last of her bread.  Her father, with a much larger portion and a slower pace, was still eating.  She waited patiently, or as patiently as she could.  Her feet swung back and forth, hidden under the table.  She contained a sigh of relief when her parents finally finished their meals.  Mother twirled her wand and levitated everything off of the table, returning them to their proper places, and the dishes into the sonic dishwasher. 

            “I have some work to finish up, I’ll be done soon.”  Mother assured.  Whether it was for her job teaching human studies at the academy or for the family council, Spock did not know.  Father nodded to Spock for her to follow him.  She did, hurrying to keep up with her tall father.  He was often away on business trips, and Spock missed him very much.  But she had to let him go so that he could keep the federation safe.  Her father was like the superheroes that mother had told her about, swooping in and saving the day with a trade agreement.   Her father led her to his study, and Spock held her breath as he opened the door.  She was rarely permitted inside, as this was father’s private room for work, and not for her to play in. 

            Father silently opened a drawer of his large wooden desk, and pulled out a case.  It appeared to be an instrument box.  He turned to her and opened it, so that she could see what it contained.  It _was_ an instrument, like the one Grandmother owned but never seemed to play.  It was made of what appeared to be Li’Pon and Sher Skah wood.  Spock desired to touch it, but restrained herself, if only barely. 

            “This is a Vulcan lyre.  It is a twelve stringed instrument, tuned in a twelve-tone chromatic scale.  It can be an accompaniment or solo instrument.  It combines the tonal qualities of a harp, lute, sitar, and to some extent, violin.  The lowest pitch it is capable of reaching is 60 cps.  The highest is 3180 cps.  This was mine when I was beginning being instructed in how to play.  Would you like to learn how to play this instrument?”  Her father asked, seriously, as always.

            Spock knew that her father would expect her to be logical and composed about this.  She nodded, as serenely as she could manage. 

            “I will only teach you if you agree to commit to learning.  Do you commit?”  He asked, eyes nearly black, almost stern. 

            “Yes father, I agree to commit to learning how to play the Vulcan lyre.  Thank you for this opportunity.”  She said, her tongue messing up the r sound in opportunity. 

            “Good.  We shall begin.” He informed her, gesturing for her to sit on the couch in his study. 

            He showed her how hold the instrument, and then how to move her hands over the strings. 

            She rarely felt anything from the bond with her father, but that night it hummed with quiet pride.  She became so engrossed in her lesson that she did not notice at all when her mother stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame.  She was smiling gently. 

            Spock was suddenly over taken by a large yawn and fit of sleepiness. 

            “It is time to rest for the evening Spock-kam.  Put away the lyre and we shall continue tomorrow.”  Father said, assisting her with returning the lyre to its case. 

            Together, both of her parents helped her into her pajamas and tucked her into bed that night.  Her eyes were already closed when her mother pressed a kiss to her forehead, and her father brushed his fingers over her psionic points, sending a final pulse of pride and love. 

 


	9. Chapter 9

            Her mother did not desire for Spock to undertake the kahs-wan, but she would allow it.  Spock was scheduled to face it on the twentieth day of the month Tasmeen, however, she was beginning to believe it should be sooner. 

            The other children at school were continuing to mock her parentage.  They claimed that she was not a true Vulcan.  They said that she brought dishonor to the house of Surak.  Every night she meditated on her anger and frustration over her treatment, and attempted to produce a solution to the problem.   Spock could not be only Vulcan or only Human, and her peers seemed to believe that she could be only one.  They believed her incapable of logic, but when her mother took her to diagon alley, she could hear the way people murmured about her.  About how she was emotionless, without love, how surely she would be a dark witch.  Others said that there was not enough passion for her to be a dark witch, and said that she would be a poor excuse for a witch, dark or light. 

            Spock kept her face blank.  She felt emotions it was true, but she would not make a performance out of them.  It was something she had decided, a way to mediate her twin heritages. 

            The kahs-wan was a test of courage and strength, a test of survival skills, knowledge, and resourcefulness.  If she passed, they would have to acknowledge that she was just as Vulcan as they were.  Spock desired to begin her test as quickly as possible, so to end the unwarranted discrimination.  However, Tasmeen was months away. 

            Spock was twirling her mother’s wand, allowing red sparks to shoot from it.  She pointed it at a leaf that rested on the terrace, where she sat.  Her father occupied the table, working outside while she played and took scientific samples with her childrens tricorder.  She mouthed the spell, but the leaf barely moved with the hot desert wind.  “Wingardium Leviosa.”  She attempted again.  The leaf did nothing.  She cleared her throat.  “Wingardium Leviosa.”  She said clearly.  The leaf stuttered into the air, but fell back almost immediately.  Her brow creased slightly.  She straightened her back, and raised the wand once again. 

            “Wingardium Leviosa.”  She said loudly, attempting to recreate her aunt Rebecca’s commanding tone.  The leaf lifted, and hovered in the air for a good moment, before it dropped.  Spock nodded slightly, accepting the victory.

            “Spock.”  Her father said, still at the table.  He was looking at her, his face expressionless.  She stood from where she was crouching, smoothing her robe out.

            “Yes father?” 

            Her father gestured for her to sit at the table next to him.  Spock approached him, calm on the surface but struggling to reign in her dread.  She sat down quietly, aware that her father’s eyes were still on her.

            “I must commend you for your progress, both academically and magically.”  There had been a slight hesitation in her father’s voice before he said ‘magically’ but he continued on as though there hadn’t been.  He continued, “as well as your ability to find balance between your human and Vulcan heritage.  You are now the age when Vulcans are traditionally betrothed, to be fully wed as adults.  Do you desire such an arrangement?” Her father asked. 

            Spock remained still.  She knew that her father requesting her preference in this was important, but she wasn’t certain how much. 

            She hesitated to answer.  She wanted to be acknowledged as a true Vulcan, but was uncertain if she wanted this decided for her.  She couldn’t imagine ever getting married and leaving her parents. If she did desire a betrothal, who would be chosen?

                        “I am uncertain father.  Do you have any possible mates in mind?”  She asked. 

                        He nodded.  “There is Zakal, of the clan Ha Nauk.  He is reportedly quite skilled in mathematics and music.  Senva, of the clan s’Reah van.  Adept at linguistics.  T’Evoryn, of the clan Storik Yon.    A very accomplished dancer.  There have been other applicants, but none of them are as acceptable as these.”  Spock considered.  She knew of Zakal, he was usually a few rankings behind her in school, which still placed him in the top ten.  Senva was vain about his skill in languages.  She had never heard of T’Evoryn, but she was uncertain if an artist would make a suitable mate for her.   

            “Should you and mother not speak of this with the family council and Grandmother?” Spock questioned him. 

            Her father raised an eyebrow.  “It has already been discussed, and we have chosen to allow you to decide.  Do you desire to be betrothed, Spock?”  He asked.

            A betrothal would help her appear more Vulcan, but many clans didn’t bond their assigned female children.  A betrothal was traditional.  Would any mate accept her?  The purpose of such early betrothals was to ensure that a mate would be readily available during the Time.  Spock did not yet know what the time was, or when it came.  Would she be on Vulcan when it came? Or would she be attending Hogwarts?

            What would be most beneficial to the Clan? What would best serve the Graysons?  What was best for Spock?  She felt frozen in distress.  She was seven years old, how could she be expected to make this decision? 

            “I do not desire to be betrothed yet father.  I understand that the family council will ask if I desire an arranged marriage when I am presented, perhaps the topic can be revisited then?” She said steadily, her hands gripped each other tightly under the table. 

            Her father nodded.  “A prudent choice.  Perhaps you would like to show me what you have learned, with your mother’s wand?”  He asked. 

            Spock almost smiled. 

            “Of course father.”  She waved the wand at a piece of paper, concentrating on the flow of the magic.  “Wingardium Leviosa.” It stuttered into the air for a moment. 

            He nodded.  “Most impressive.  Tell me about the aerodynamics of your Krum broomstick.”  He requested, listening closely as Spock regaled him with tales of Sloth Grip Rolls and attempts at a Starfish and Stick. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, but the next will continue Spocks kahs-wan dilemma


	10. Chapter 10

            Her kahs-wan appointment was in 4.358 months time.  Spock waited, internally impatient for it to commence.  She was certain that if she could only complete the trial, her peers would recognize her as a legitimate Vulcan. 

            She resolved to request that her Father and Grandmother move the appointed time to a closer date.  She decided to do it at dinner, in just a short while.  Spock was helping her mother in the garden while Beaky cooked.  Her small hands moved quickly as she weeded the Moly flowers.  Her mother was attempting to perk up her roses with liberal doses of a herbivicus charm.  Roses did not particularly thrive on Vulcan, but mother continued to grow them. 

            Spock attempted to organize her argument for an early kahs-wan into 2 key points. 

  1. She had already been preparing for 6 standard months. She studied everyday about the flora and fauna, and records of historical kahs-wans.
  2. She was more physically mature than her peers, her human heritage placing her approximately 4.863 months ahead of the others in her school grouping.



Spock did not consider giving them her third argument, which was to simply insist that she had to do it now so she could earn respect.  Her father would consider this an emotional response, vanity, and be less likely to consider her request. 

            Her sensitive hearing just barely made out the sound of the door bell ringing.  It was almost certainly her grandmother arriving for dinner.  She continued at the plants for a few moments longer before she detected the arrival of Beaky. 

            “Miss, Lady T’Pau bein’ here for dinner.  I has welcomed her.”  The house elf squeaked brightly, before she disappeared again.  She had probably returned to the kitchen to finish preparing the evening meal.  Mother stood up, took her wand out of her pocket and used it magically clean herself and Spock. 

            “Come on Spock, we must greet Grandma.” Mother smoothed back her hair as she stepped into the house.  She guided Spock to the sitting area, where her Grandmother sat, delicately holding a glass of kava juice.  Spock and her mother respectfully approached the elder, mother gave a subdued welcoming smile and Spock held up the Vulcan salute.  “Hello T’Pau, we’re so glad you could join us.”  Mother greeted her warmly.  I-Chaya snoozed in the corner. 

            “I am pleased to be in your company.”  Grandmother greeted.  She was a formidable woman with great power and wisdom, and her support of Spock’s parent’s bonding provided an unknown amount of protection.   She returned Spock’s salute, as well as nodded at her. 

            “Dinner will be ready shortly, but Sarek isn’t home yet.  If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been in the garden all day and I need to change out of these clothes.”  Her mother excused herself, leaving Spock, who had gardened in her school uniform, with Grandmother. 

            “Sit Spock.”  She commanded.  Spock sat.  She enjoyed her Grandmother’s company, but she was fearsome seeming, even to her granddaughter.  “I must commend you for ranking as the number one student in your school for the previous 42.539 days.”  She said, tone not wavering from its usual serene but purposeful pitch. Spock clasped her hands in her lap before she raised her gaze to meet Grandmother’s eye.  To be complimented by Lady T’Pau was an honor, for she was difficult to impress, even for a Vulcan. 

            “Thank you, Grandmother.  I am fortunate to be held in such esteem by you.  I always endeavor to bring honor to our house.”  Spock accepted the praise solemnly.

            “As you should.”  Grandmother said.  “Tell me, what academic subjects do you find most stimulating?”    She asked.  
            Spock considered.  She enjoyed many subjects.  Literature, music, art, poetry, all varieties of science and mathematics. 

            “I have a great preference for computer science and physics.  I believe I will pursue a career in science.”  She said.  Grandmother nodded in approval. 

            “If you continue to excel in your studies, you may well attend the Vulcan Science Academy.”  She said, and Spock suppressed a small gasp.  She knew the gravity of the statement.  She, logically, understood that if her grades continued as they did she would stand a strong chance of being admitted to the academy.  On the other hand, she could not fully fathom ever being so honored as to be chosen to attend the Vulcan Science Academy.  It was what she desired most.  Completing the kahs-wan would earn her a measure of acceptance, but admission to the academy would signify that she was the equal of all Vulcans, even superior to many. 

            Spock nodded deeply.  “I would be honored to attend, Grandmother.”  

            Her grandmother did not have to nod in agreement.  It was unspoken.  The sound of her mother hurrying down the stairs drew their attention away from the conversation, and her arrival ended it completely. 

            Mother had changed out of her human muggle clothes, which she gardened in, and into Vulcan clothing.  They were a trouser and blouse, both made of a Vulcan material, similar to a blend of cotton and silk.  The pants were loose fitting, but tightened at the ankle.  They were her mother’s preferred shade of blue.  Spock thought she appeared particularly aesthetically appealing. 

            Spock felt her stomach rise, in remembrance of the request she intended to make.    
She quelled her nervousness, rolling the emotion into a tight ball and throwing it away from her.  She would have to convince her mother, who was opposed to the very idea of the kahs-wan.  Her father, who would insist that Spock had not trained enough.  Her grandmother, who would demand that this decision be made only with the purest logic.  This was not the time for emotions.

            Spock maintained her still composure as she heard her father’s hovercar pull into the parking garage.  Mother turned and smiled as she heard the front door open and father step inside, followed by Beaky popping in to take his things for him.  Father thanked Beaky before making his way to the sitting area.  A glass of his preferred Parthi juice appeared on a tray on a side table as he greeted them. 

            He sipped it as he, mother and grandmother inquired about each other’s day, and discussed current events. Spock sat quietly, offering answers only when asked.  Beaky popped in when Grandmother was discussing a family home near one of the few oceans of Vulcan that she intended to make repairs to. 

            “Sorrys for interrupting Miss, but the dinner is served.”  She squeaked, clasping her small hands and smiling.  Mother often insisted on cooking dinner, and Beaky loved to show off.  The fact that the elf could make food nonnative to earth was a major deciding factor of her accompanying Mother to Vulcan.  Mother nodded and brought her hands together, which made the slightest clapping noise.

            “Fantastic! Let’s eat, I am super hungry,” She said, leading the group to the dining room, where Beaky had set the table with the more formal dishes.  Father pulled Grandmother’s chair out for her, as a sign of respect to an elder.  Spock sat at her special chair, which was an entirely ordinary chair which mother had put a thick out of date potions book on, so that Spock could see.  Father sat, and Beaky arrived, levitating the meal onto the table.  It was Pok tar.  The pleasant aroma suggested that Beaky had cooked it to perfection.  Father served everyone, and Spock took a bite slowly.  She was considering her request.  She once again quelled her nerves as her stomach had the sensation of plummeting, along with the accompanying shame of having to make this request in the first place.  If she could only keep her composure at all times, not react with violence and anger over the insults to herself and her family, they would respect her already.  Her family members continued their previous discussions, Mother now saying explaining the Hogwarts houses to Grandmother. 

            “How is the hat capable of knowing what trait the individual values most?”  Grandmother asked.  Mother began giving an explanation of the charms believed to be used by the founders, as no one really understood the old magic behind the hat.  

            “-The only other magical school that sorts students into houses is an American one.  There are several books on the subject matter, would you like them?”  Her mother asked. 

            “Affirmative.  I would also request such texts explaining your education system, as well as any others about coming of age rituals that may apply to Spock.  As clan mother, I must possess the knowledge to make the correct and logical choices in regard to my charges.”  Grandmother said. 

            Mother assured her that she would acquire as many books as T’Pau wanted. Spock sat even straighter.  This seemed the most appropriate time. 

            Beaky reappeared to clear their plates, as well as serve the dessert.  It was a human dessert.  Sweet Washington cherry pie was what her mother called it, sweet enough for a Human to find enjoyable, tart enough for a Vulcan to do the same. 

            “Father, Grandmother, may I make a request?”  She asked, gripping her hands together under the table. 

            Everyone looked up at her.  Father looked to Grandmother, who nodded.  

            “Affirmative.” He said. 

            “I would ask that I complete my kahs-wan earlier than scheduled.”  She said.  Her Father and Grandmother’s expressions did not change, but Mother’s did. 

            “Absolutely not.”  Mother said, shaking her head. 

            “I feel that this would be unwise.”  Father stated. 

            “You are not yet sufficiently prepared.”  Grandmother said.  Spock braced herself against the sudden wave of protests.

            “I believe I am sufficiently prepared.  I have studied an hour a day for the past 85 days.  I am more physically mature than my peers. I am capable of completing the kahs-wan.”  She insisted. 

            “Negative, you are not.  We shall not reconsider this request.  You will attempt the kahs-wan at the appointed time.”  Grandmother said calmly. 

            “Is that understood?”  Mother asked, less calmly. 

            Spock raised her eyes, maintaining her shields to the best of her ability. 

            “Affirmative mother.” 

            The adults returned to their conversation, though her mother’s voice held less mirth.  Spock picked at her dessert, wondering what she was to do now.  The bullies would not stop.  Spock could not wait for Tasmeen, it was too far away.  It became clearer and clearer to her that she could not put up with the cruelty for another day.  Her cordial felt heated against her skin and she chewed the inside of her lip.  She mechanically ate her dessert, barely blinking when Beaky cleared her plate.  She followed her family into the sitting room, but barely listened to what they spoke about.  She was startled out of her thoughts by Grandmother standing, and her parents following her to the front door.  Spock accompanied them, giving her grandmother the salute as she departed.  Mother turned to Spock as father closed the door. 

            “Bath time for little girls.”  She declared, smiling, obviously believing that Spock’s earlier request had been laid to rest.  Spock obeyed, getting in the sonic shower, completely bare, except for her cordial.  She had been told to not ever take it off.  It was meant to protect her.   When she completed her cleansing, she did not feel capable of returning downstairs and continuing the evening as she normally would.  She simply wanted to go to bed and be left alone. 

            She changed into her sleeping clothes before informing her parents that she would be beginning her rest period earlier than usual, and bidding them goodnight.  As she lay in bed, Spock found herself incapable of sleeping.  As she laid there, she became aware that she could almost make out the conversation her parents were having, in their own bedroom, down the hall.  Spock strained her ears but could not quite discern what they were saying.  She slipped out of bed, padding to her door and opening it as soundlessly as possible.  She was now more capable of understanding them, but she still needed closer proximity to hear the full conversation. 

            Logically, she knew this was wrong, that morally she was not meant to intrude on other people’s privacy.  She turned to return to her room when she heard her name mentioned, and she whipped back around, advancing silently toward her parent’s bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. 

            “Why would she want to do it sooner? I don’t understand.”  Her mother said, sounding worried.  Spock felt resentful.  If mother was not so emotional, so human, Spock would not need to complete the kahs-wan sooner than scheduled. 

            “Nor do I.  Perhaps I should speak with her tomorrow?”  Father said, calm as always.  Spock felt resentful.  If father was not so emotionless, so Vulcan, Spock would not feel so ashamed of her own failings in logic. 

            “Yes, please do.  I love her so much, but sometimes I feel like, culturally, I don’t have the right words.  Do you think this is about her being bullied?” Mother asked. 

            “It is possible.  I shall speak with her.  Now, we should rest.”  Father told her. 

            “Maybe she shouldn’t try the kahs-wan at all.”  Mother said, in a small voice.  Spock almost gave a physical reaction, nearly jerking backwards at the statement.  She turned and returned to her room, not bothering to stay and listen to her father’s response.  She closed her door and began to think.  What if her mother had convinced her father that the kahs-wan was too dangerous?  What if they canceled her trial? She would never be regarded as a true Vulcan, if they canceled the trial, she would never be considered a true adult Vulcan. 

            She needed to complete the kahs-wan, and she needed to do it soon.  Negative, she needed to do it now.  Spock got out of bed once again.  From her closet she procured the clothing that she would have been allowed to use, had she waited till her official time.  The kahs-wan was something that was simply witnessed and recorded by a clan leader, the official time was inconsequential.  If Spock succeeded, Grandmother would acknowledge it. 

            The clothing was light, covering, and easy to move in.  There were no built in temperature controls.  Spock hurried, and tied her hair back in a single braid.  The shoes she pulled on had a thick protective sole, but were otherwise quite light.  She picked up her padd, typing out a quick message to inform her parents of what she was doing, so that when her mother inevitably panicked they would know she had not been kidnapped. 

            Spock slipped downstairs, the house dark.  She was grateful Beaky slept deeply.   Approaching the back door, she was met with her first obstacle.  The security system’s child safety measures would go off if she left the house at this time of night unaccompanied.  Her eyes fell on the pet door.  The system would do nothing if I-Chaya went outside.  But first, she would have to convince the system she was I-Chaya, or else it would alert her parents of an intruder. 

            Her sehlat bore a collar equipped with a chip that the pet door read whenever I-Chaya went through it, providing him with alarm free safe passage.  Spock looked down the hall to the sitting room, where I-Chaya slept.  She crept into the room, and found him in his usual corner.  She approached him quietly, knowing he would recognize her smell and not attack her even if she startled him.  She began to pet him, and he enjoyed it, flattening his ears and making sounds of contentment.  She rubbed his neck, scratching behind his ears, unbuckling the collar without his notice.  Spock continued to pet him for several more moments, before she backed away, hurrying to the back door.  She pulled the collar on halfway over her head and crawled through the pet door.  Outside, she rushed down the garden path, running.  She swung open the garden gate, hurrying down into the forge. 

            She pulled the collar off, dropping it to the ground as she walked quickly, wanting to put distance between herself and her residence.  She was uncertain as to the full extent of her mother’s wards, and did not know if her parents were even now aware she had left. 

            She hurried, careful to track what direction she was heading.  She decided to walk at least 2.5 standard miles further north before heading west and cutting down.  She wanted to stay away from any residential areas. 

            Spock stumbled over rocks in the dark, listening closely for a le-matya’s roar.  She steered away from the L-langon mountains as soon as she could, wanting to be away from the foothills where they were known to live.  She continued walking, drawing on her months of preparation.  Her father had taken her hiking in the forge, stating she would need to increase her stamina and endurance.  Spock was grateful, managing to continue her trek until dawn crested over the forge, making the tops of the red hills glow, as if on fire, and casting everything else in a deep blue shadow, which seemed to be consumed by flames as the sun rose higher in the sky.  The mountains behind her reflected light.  Spock assessed the landscape, evaluating the pros and cons of stopping and resting for several hours.  She determined that she would continue on, in the direction of the hills she knew to be in the distance, where she would pause and rest.  But first, she had one more task to complete. 

            Spock reached down the neckline of her tunic, pulling the cordial over her head.  Her neck felt strange without the ribbon and weight.  She hadn’t ever taken it off, but now she held it in her palm. 

            The cordial had been made to protect her.  It held her mother and aunt’s magic.  Something protective, magic or not, was against the rules of the trial.  It would count as an unfair advantage.  Spock had considered leaving it in her room, but decided against it.  The trial was the beginning of growth into an adult.  It was her first time experiencing independence.  It was her first step outside of her parent’s protection. 

            The bullies’ taunts had taught her that her parents were unable to protect her, and what was more, it was time she began defending herself.  Spock dropped the cordial, and it hit the desert ground with a dull thud and clink, the magic inside thrumming in protest.  She raised her left foot in the air, clad in its thick soled shoe, and brought it down hard on the cordial.  The glass bottle crunched, but the bottle remained mostly whole.  Spock brought her foot down again, harder this time, and bottle gave way beneath her shoe.  The red magic spilled out onto the red dirt, almost completely ordinary seeming, except for the fact that it evaporated, turning into a mist, and seemed to streak towards the north east.  Towards her residence.  Spock watched her magical protection become more and more distant, until finally it was unreachable, out of sight.  She turned back towards the hills in the distance, where the rocks would provide shelter, and water was occasionally found.  It would provide a spot for her to meditate on logic, and what it meant to be a Vulcan adult.  She continued walking, the sun now bearing down on her.  She reached the hills by midday, her feet truly aching, exhaustion making her stumble.  The rocks formed a ring, and Spock climbed towards the center, where she knew that a few Gespar bushes could be found, growing in the shade the boulders provided.  She was hungry, but a Vulcan, even a small child like herself, was capable of going several weeks without food or water.  What she most wanted was rest. She clambered onto a flatter boulder, which had a rock jutting up behind it, providing her with shade.  She curled up with her arm under her head, and was asleep almost instantly.  

            When she woke, it was dark.  Using the time keeping she had practiced, Spock calculated that she had been asleep for 12.592 hours.  There was approximately 6.5 hours until sunrise, and though she was hungry, she did not wish to attempt to navigate the rocks in the dark.  She remained on the rock she had slept on, deciding to begin her meditation. 

            She put herself into a trance, considering all of the emotions she had felt that day.  She felt herself traveling further and further into her mind.  She used to meditation training she had acquired in school, imagining that she had entered a room in which to store her emotions.  The room was locked, with solid walls, and would not crumble.  The significant emotions had to be stowed away and remember, so that their minds would be accustomed to them, and would not be controlled by them.  Spock considered the fear of her request, and packed it away in its box.  Next came the anger that her request had been denied.  That to, went in its box.  Then the rebelliousness that had filled her when she took the matter into her own hands.  Finally, all the boxes filled, she went about putting them on their proper shelves.  Anger and fear laid on either side of shame, and all three had many boxes.  Rebellious had few boxes until recently, but the number was growing. 

            Spock went around the room, running her hand along each box, considering each emotions circumstances.  When she was done she exited the room, locking the door behind her.  She continued her meditation, considering the first principle of Surak.  ‘ _Logic is the boundary of meaning and reason.  Logic is the mother of all creation.  Freed from emotion, one can see the hidden logic.  Being ruled by emotion, one can only see one’s own limitations.  Yet logic and reason emerge from the same source.  This source is called the logos.  Logic born from the logos is the beginning of all wisdom.’_ She had studied the teachings of Surak, preparing for the trial, where she would have to decide what her path was to be.  Logic, the Vulcan way? Or Emotion? 

            Her mind turned to the sixth precept of the qeS’a’; Destroy Weakness.  ‘ _For the Dictum calls it the endless vigil.  Warriors must watch with vigilance.  A warrior’s first quarry is within, frailties of spirt, flaws that gnaw at resolve.  These are more treacherous than a deceitful friend, more wounding than a mate’s betrayal.  Your weakness is more powerful than your enemy’s strength.  At the crux of danger, weakness emerges from the heart. Like a beast from its lair.  Your weakness will choke your courage, blind you valor, and smother your will while it sleeps.  Harden your heart and make it like the stony ground, inhospitable to weakness. Stalk weakness tirelessly. Slay it without mercy.  Dishonor comes not from weakness, but from sheltering weakness and looking on while it multiples, which it will, always.’_

The precept seemed to align with what Surak taught, but Klingons were not a logical race. Not by Vulcan standards, at least. 

            A passage from an earth philosophy book came to mind.  ‘ _A peaceful and sedate condition of life, exempt from the agitations we receive through the impressions of the opinion and knowledge we think we have of things. Whence are born fear, avarice, envy, immoderate desires, ambition, pride, superstition, love of novelty, rebellion, disobedience, obstinacy and most bodily ills.’_ All of these teachings called for logic, and the dismissal of desires and passions, those things which make you weak.  Spock thought of all she had learned, turning over the philosophies and teachings of many cultures.  The thinkers of eastern Orion in the 2nd century taught to accept your passions, and give in to the desires that come to you most frequently.  

            The ancient Vulcans had a pantheon of gods, many of which dual aspects.  Spock thought of how the God of peace Kir-alep’s counterpart was not war, but Alep-kir, who brought apathy.  Yet Surak himself said that that the wise Vulcan did not take sides.  Was this not akin to apathy?

            Spock considered many voices and schools of thought before exiting her meditation, allowing herself to surface gradually.  When she opened her eyes she found the sun once again cresting over the hill, creating odd shadows amongst the rocks.  Spock climbed down towards the center of the ring, where the Gespar bushes grew. First, she urinated, shaking her hips to rid them of excess liquid. She stood, and stretched.  She picked a fruit, pricking her fingers on the thorns.  She bit into the fruit, squatting on the ground and surveying the area.  She wondered how her family, either side, had reacted to her beginning the kahs-wan without permission. 

            Her mother’s relatives may approve of the spirit and ambition of what she had done, but it would be overridden by the fact that she had not received familial approval.  She had in fact gone against familial disapproval.  Her father and grandmother were her most important Vulcan relatives, and they would disapprove of what she had done.  She would be punished when she returned home. 

            Spock hoped that this was worth it.

            Finished with her fruit, she stood and walked around, stretching her legs.  Suddenly, she was aware of the padding of feet behind her. Four feet.  With the feet, a growl that made Spock tremble.   She felt a rush of ancestral fear rise through her, every instinct, both base and evolved, told her to flee.  But flee to where? The le-matya was faster than her, and surely would be on her in mere seconds.   She stood, too fearful to move, waiting for the le-matya to strike and end her life.  She stood, for 6 seconds.  And then 4 more seconds.  Still the feet padded.  8 more seconds. 

            If it was a le-matya, or even a wild sehlat, Spock reasoned, it would have attacked by now.  Her curiosity made her turn around, where she was met by a large amount of fur and fang knocking her to the ground.  Fur and fang and tongue, which seemed to lick from the tip of her chin up to her eyelids.  The creature purred contentedly at having found its young charge.  Spock pushed at I-Chaya’s large chest, wishing to stand.  He eventually allowed it, but stayed close to her, softly growling.  It was the same sound he always used when she had done something he perceived as unsafe.  He must have followed her. 

            She pet his head, attempting to sooth him.  Sehlats were not like Vulcans.  They were quite illogical. 

            I-Chaya grasped at the hem of her shirt with his large teeth, taking a step backwards.  Spock was pulled forward, but fought it. 

            “I am not returning home until my kahs-wan is complete.  Let go, I-Chaya.”  She commanded.   The sehlat took an additional step back, and then another, pulling her along.  She resisted, digging her feet into the ground, and he growled his disapproval.  He continued stepping backwards, reaching the rocks and climbing up onto them.  Spock struggled, before a thought occurred to her.  _This is similar to bedtime.  I do not wish to go, I-Chaya is dragging me. Therefore I should utilize the same methods that most often succeed in securing a later nights rest._ She sat on the ground, leaving a large amount of her shirts fabric in I-Chaya’s teeth.  

            I-Chaya roared with annoyance, tossing his head. 

            “I will not return until my kahs-wan is complete.”  She told him, and though he gave a final roar and head toss, he stepped down off the rocks.   I-Chaya circled her, seeming to check her for injuries like he would a wayward cub.   When he appeared satisfied that she was relatively unharmed, he flopped down on the ground, looking exhausted.  Spock dropped down next to him, her turn to check for injures.  He appeared to be unharmed, merely in need of rest.  Spock nodded, climbing back to her rock.  She did not wish to acquire a sunburn, and if she meditated in a place with no shade, during the time when the sun was highest, she would surely burn. 

            Spock was glad for the arrival of I-Chaya.  She was now able to admit to herself that she had been lonely and frightened. 

            Spock continued her meditation, for hours, pausing only twice to eat, and feed I-Chaya.  Her protector pet did not particularly enjoy the diet of only fruit, but he was capable of surviving on it. 

            She compared different philosophers and religions, some ancient, others current, a few from as far away as Orion.  However, none of them seemed appropriate to her.  She was the only human Vulcan hybrid in existence.  No philosophy, no religion, could guide her, for none had foreseen her creation, nor understood the peculiarities of her struggle. 

            She continued in her pattern of meditation, stretching, eating, and sleeping for a week.  I-Chaya paced, but never left her.  She was occasionally aware of her parents using their shared bonds to search her out, but her mind was strengthened by the near constant meditation.  Her shields remained strong. 

            At the end of her trial, she was left with the question of Logic, or Emotion?  She could not delay any longer.  She had to decide.  She could not decide.  To eschew emotion would disappoint and sadden her mother’s family, to forsake logic would shame her clan. 

            She sat for hours, thinking on this.  Could she not have both?  Could she not have both emotions, and logic?  Why was she not allowed to?  Her aunt Rebecca was head of the family council.  She made excellent decisions, but had made no commitments to logic or emotional control. 

            There must be a way to satisfy everyone.  It came to her the way the wind revealed things in sand dunes. 

            Logic was important, logic was necessary.  Emotion would influence logic. 

            If doing something would make her happy, it would be considered as a valid point. 

            Emotion would be one more thing to think of in the cutting light of logic. 

            This decided, Spock climbed down off her rock, calling to I-Chaya.  She sent a pulse of reassurance to her parents, and climbed down over the rocks.  

            I-Chaya followed her closely, sniffing the air, ensuring Spock’s safety.  Her feet were aching by the second hour of her walk, but she continued on, knowing that even without resting she would be returning home late at night. 

            It was nearing dusk when I-Chaya flattened his ears, turning aggressive.  He sniffed the air wildly, crouching low in front of Spock, seeming to stare into the shadows.  Her sehlat was on the defense, and so was she.  I-Chaya pawed the ground, as though daring whatever was in the shadows to attack.  A hair raising scream cut through the desert.  The le-matya was on I-Chaya in mere seconds, both of them vicious.  The grey leathery le-matya sunk its teeth into I-Chaya’s left hind leg, making her sehlat howl in pain.  I-Chaya repaid him by goring the beast’s stomach with his six inch fangs.  Spock felt frozen, she could only watch as the le-matya pinned I-Chaya and raked its poisonous claws down his back.  I-Chaya managed to gain the upper hand, flipping their positions.  Spock watched as I-Chaya reared up, and went in for the kill. 

            The le-matya died with a gurgle, and the sound of teeth slicing through muscle and bone.   I-Chaya crawled off the dead creature, but he was limping, horribly weak.  Spock was filled with despair.  I-Chaya was the best friend she’d ever had, and now, he was going to die.  The claws of a le-matya were deadly poisonous.  If it had cut Spock, she would already have been dead.  

            Spock knew he would keep walking with her, he would try.  However, Spock knew that every step would pain him.  She sat on the ground and I-Chaya sat with her.  She laid down next to him, putting her arms around him as best she could. 

            She tried hard to think if there was any way to comfort him.  The only thing that came to mind was that I-Chaya was calm when Spock was calm. 

            How to make herself calm? 

            Spock thought for a moment, and then cleared her throat. 

            “Once, many centuries ago, there lived a brave girl and her sehlat.  In those ancient days, to be companions with a sehlat was considered strange, and the members of the girl’s tribe did not like to speak with her.  The girl took no notice, as her sehlat was her greatest friend. The girl was very poor. One day, her tribe’s leaders came to here and requested that she and her sehlat carry an important message through the dangerous mountains, which was the territory of their enemies.  The message was for their tribe’s allies, and spoke of plans for war.”  I-Chaya purred as best he could as Spock did her best to slow her heart rate. 

            “The girl was brave, and the sehlat good, so they agreed.  They traveled through the mountains, warding off all manners of threat, the sehlat protecting the girl.  But one day, they were captured by their enemies, the terrible tribe of the West.  The leader planned to kill the girl, but was killed himself by her sehlat.  The girl and sehlat fled, hiding in the canyon of death.  When the tribe of the west saw where they had gone, they turned back and returned home. No one who went in the canyon came out.  However, because the girl was brave and the sehlat good, they tried to continue, because their tribe needed them to.  On the second day in the canyon, the girl dropped to the ground and could not be persuaded to stand up again.  The heat had overcome her.” 

            Spock cried silently as she felt I-Chaya’s breaths grow weaker and weaker. 

            “The good sehlat took her in his teeth as though she were his cub, and carried her, all the way to their allies’ tribe, where she was revived.  When the leaders of the tribe asked how she came to survive, she told them her sehlat saved her.  The leaders were astounded and impressed, and offered to purchase the sehlat from her, offering the poor girl riches beyond any she had ever seen.  But the girl refused to sell her friend, and the leaders praised her for her loyalty.  The girl and her sehlat were made official messengers, and from that time on, Vulcan children were placed in the care of sehlats, and they became their favorite companions.” 

            I-Chaya was nearing the end, she could tell. 

            “The sehlats were the best of protectors and always performed their duties admirably, especially I-Chaya, sehlat of Sarek, and Spock after.  He has served the clan of S’Chn T’Gai better than any known sehlat in recorded history, and was a good friend to an otherwise friendless girl.  Thank you,    I-Chaya, for your service.”  She shuddered a shaking breath as I-Chaya closed his eyes.  His chest rose and fell, and rose and fell, and rose and fell.  His chest didn’t rise again.  She felt for a heartbeat and found none.  I-Chaya was dead. 

            She wished to cry, in fact she could feel a sob choking in her throat.  However, logic was what was necessary now.  The other animals would smell the blood and come closer to inspect, and now she was defenseless against attack.  She kept moving, tears occasionally overwhelming her control, but she stumbled on.  It was perhaps 2 AM when she reached home, though many lights were on.  She took a moment to dry her eyes once more before stepping into the kitchen.  Mother looked up from the table first, a cry of joy on her lips.  She hurried to hug Spock tightly. 

            When Mother finally released Spock, Grandmother was recording the details of the kahs-wan. 

            Father and Mother were alternating between chastising her for leaving and touching her, as though to make certain she was really there. 

            It took several minutes for her mother to exclaim over the blood soaked clothes. 

            “Oh my god are you ok? Are you hurt?  What happened?”  She said frantically.

            Spock did not wish to inform her parents of what had occurred, but she knew she must. 

            With a deep breath she recounted how I-Chaya had followed her, and the attack of the le-matya.  She told them that I-Chaya was dead. 

            Mother hugged her again, tightly. 

            “Oh my love.  I’m so sorry.”  She told Spock, offering what comfort she could. 

            Father looked solemn, even more so than usual. 

            “I grieve with thee.”  He told her.  She nodded her acceptance and thanks for the sentiment.

            “Are you thirsty sweetie?”  Mother asked.  Spock nodded.  It had been eleven days since she last consumed liquid.  Father retrieved a glass of water for her, and she drank it quickly, gulping. 

            “Come on Sprocket, let’s get you cleaned up.”  Mother said.  Spock expected her to lead her to the upstairs bathroom she usually cleansed herself in, but she was led instead to a guest bathroom.  It was one with a larger tub, so perhaps that was why her mother had selected it. 

            Mother assisted her in getting undressed, undoing her ragged braid.  The water was hot, and Spock could see the dirt and blood streak off of her, disappearing into the tubs water refreshers.  Her mother carefully poured water over her head, soaking her long hair.  Spock washed her body while Mother scrubbed her hair and rinsed. 

            “You stay here, I’ll go get you your pajamas.”  Mother told her, leaving her to enjoy the last few minutes of her bath.  Spock drained the tub and stepped out, toweling herself off.  She was dry by the time Mother returned with her soft blue pajamas, and she changed into them sleepily, barely able to keep her eyes open as she exited the bathroom.  Father was still at the table, and looked up as Spock entered the kitchen tiredly. 

            “I trust you meditated on logic during your trial?”  He asked.

            “Yes father, as well as numerous philosophies and-“  She broke off, yawning enormously.  Father’s gaze softened, and he stood from the table.  Spock barely had the awareness to inquire what he was doing when he picked her up, cradling her to his chest.  She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, and her legs around his waist.  She fell asleep to her father tucking her into bed, her mother watching from the doorway. 


	11. Chapter 11

Cousin Michael was fourteen.  He was to be presented.  Spock was not permitted to attend the proceedings as she herself was only nine and not even out of training cauldrons yet.  Mother would go, and Father with her as her spouse. 

            Michael had been preparing, just as Spock had prepared for her kahs-wan.  When Spock’s parents were busy they would often send her to be watched by her Uncle Cal and Aunt Elizabeth on the wixen colony they ran.  The colony, Radian I, was small but bustled.  Uncle Cal was a nice man, but even Spock knew who made the decisions for the colony, and that was Aunt Elizabeth.  They were both very busy, and weren’t home very much, so they would leave her with Michael.  She and her cousin would do their homework together, Spock worked on the school assignments that were due the next day and Michael worked on his summer reading. 

            When they were done with that, Michael would take her for a walk around the colony, and he’d see his friends and talk with them while Spock examined everything there was to examine.  Eventually Michael would have to say goodbye to his friends and call her back, and she’d scamper back to him.  He’d lead her home and they would eat dinner in front of the screen.  They would put on the muggle news first, so that Michael could formulate and solidify his opinions and Spock could watch and see what was happening that might take her father far away.  Then, if she was still awake, Michael would turn on a documentary for her, the sound low, and he’d prepare for his presentation more.  She didn’t know if he continued to study when she was asleep, but she’d wake with a thick and warm blanket draped carefully over her. 

            It was the afternoon on Radian I and Spock used her Kids Tricorder to scan the bright blue flowers that grew in the meadow while Michael sat and talked with some boys on the Slytherin quidditch team.  He would occasionally look up and scan the meadow to ascertain her location, and then turn back to one of the boys mimicking various quidditch moves he had seen.  Spock ventured a little further, her ears picked up the very slight sound of someone murmuring to themselves.   She pushed past some more flowers to reveal a large indent covered by foliage.  It had mossy green grass and trailing purple flowers, and a very pretty dark skinned human girl sat in the middle.  Her hair was done in two buns on the sides of her head, and she wore a yellow shift style dress.  Spock listened closely to her murmuring, and recognized that she was saying the same sentence over and over again. 

            “Hello, it is nice to meet you.”  She said it in standard, then earth English, then earth Swahili, then Andorian, then finally in earth Spanish.  She said this several times over, before she said a new sentence and repeated it in her various languages. 

            “Would you like to learn how to say that in Vulcan as well?”  Spock asked suddenly, before controlling a flush of embarrassment.  This human girl seemed so poised, so sure of herself.  The dark skinned girl whipped her head around to where Spock was standing. 

            “You speak Vulcan?”  She questioned. 

            “Affirmative.  I am willing to teach you the phrases you wish to learn, if you desire.”  Spock offered.  The girl’s gaze was rather hungry, but Spock often felt overwhelmed by the amount of open emotion human’s allowed residence in their eyes alone.  She knew that she herself had expressive, human, eyes, and she wondered if this was yet another reason no one wished to speak to her.  Perhaps they all felt shaken by her eyes, just as she was shaken by the girl’s eyes. 

            “I’m Nyota.  How do you say “hello”?” She launched right into the lesson. 

            Spock approached Nyota and sat down in her preferred meditation pose. 

            “There are two main forms of Vulcan, but of course there are multiple dialects as on any planet.  These forms are Golic and Modern Vulcan.  Golic is ancient, and used mainly for ceremonial reasons.  An informal greeting in Modern Vulcan is tonk-peh.”  She explained. Nyota listened raptly. 

            She scrunched her nose as she heard the greeting.

            “Tonk-peh.”  She attempted.  The pronunciation was butchered, but Spock could hear where she went wrong, and it was correctible.

            “Negative. You are placing too much emphasis on the “tonk.”  You must inhale through your nose as you begin the “Peh.””  Spock corrected.

            Nyota scrunched her nose again. 

            “Tonk-peh.”  She tried again.  It was much better.

            “Correct.  You have a natural aptitude for languages.”  Spock praised. 

            Nyota beamed, and revealed that her top front teeth were missing.  Spock ran her tongue along her own molars to feel the empty space left by a tooth on the bottom right. 

            “How do you say sister?” Nyota asked excitedly. 

            “Ko-kai.”  Spock said. 

            “ko-kai.”  Nyota repeated.  Spock nodded in approval.

            “And how do you say heaven?”  She asked.   

            “Sha-ka-ri.”  Spock whispered, for it was a holy word, and too be spoken of with respect, and in the time before Surak, fear.  Spock did not tell her of the word oigen, the term used in classrooms and on the street.  She told her the divine word. 

            Nyota’s eyes widened at Spock’s change of tone. 

            “Sha-ka-ri.  Heaven,” She said quietly. 

            Spock nodded. 

            “Good.  Would you like to know how a Vulcan says goodbye?” Spock asked. 

            Nyota smiled eagerly. 

            “Yes please.”  She said.

            “Mene sakkhet ur-seveh.  It means live long and prosper.”  

            “Mene sakkhet ur-seveh.”  Nyota repeated.  Spock thought that she was unusually talented at adapting to alien languages. 

            “Correct.  When one says Live Long and Prosper, the reply is generally sochya eh dif, peace and long life.”   

            “Sochya eh dif.”

            “Generally, for both hello and goodbye, a ta’al is exchanged,” she explained, and held up her hand in the gesture.  Nyota spread her fingers carefully, but they did not quite match what Spock had done. 

             “What’s your name?” Nyota asked.  Spock stilled.  Her name was always a trial, entirely unique in this universe, just as she was.

            “My standard name is S’Chn T’Gai Spock Grayson.  However, S’Chn T’Gai is a clan name, the equivalent of a terran surname.  In Golic Vulcan, Spock is Spo’k’hat’n’dlawa.”  She explained. 

            “What does it mean?”  Nyota asked. 

            Spock considered for a moment.  It was so strangely specific to her, and yet she had been named after someone. 

            “It literally translates to “resembling half of each other’s heart and soul.” Though, most people simply say it means uniter.”  Spock said.  Nyota had not been repulsed by her strange blended name, had not taunted her human eyes, had not recoiled at her pointed ears and slanted eye brows.  The girl seemed kind, and Spock had no idea how to be friends with someone who wasn’t her cousin, and already bound to her by blood. 

            “Do you have any other names?” Spock asked.  Some people only had one, and she did not wish to be rude. 

            Nyota smiled and again revealed her missing teeth. 

            “My name is Nyota Uhura and I’m from Kenya.  All together my name means star of freedom and when I grow up I’m going to be a linguist.  What are you going to be?”  Nyota asked. 

            “My goal is to attend the Vulcan Science Academy and specialize in computer programing.” Spock informed her.  

            “That’s cool. You’re the one with the human mommy yeah?” The other girl asked casually. 

            “Yes.”  She answered her. 

            “Oh.  Are you gonna go to Hogwarts?” Nyota asked. 

            “I believe so.  If you live in Kenya, will you attend the Uagadou School?” Spock queried as she finally sat down on the grass next to Nyota, who shrugged at the question. 

            “I don’t know.  My daddy went to Ugadou, but my mama went to Hogwarts.  I think I’d really like to go to Hogwarts.”  She replied. 

            “Why?” Spock asked. 

            “It’s far away.  I like being far away. It’s fun.”  Nyota said as she plucked blades of grass from the earth. 

            Spock thought on this for a moment.  She could understand the desire to get away, though she was only eight years old. 

            “Why do you derive pleasure from being away from home?”  She questioned.  Spock herself expected to live the majority of her life on Vulcan, perhaps leaving it only to attend Hogwarts. It sounded safe, and secure, and incredibly final.  

            “I don’t know.  I just like moving.”  Nyota answered with a shrug.  Spock longed for Nyota to know the words to this, to be able to say what Spock did not know how. 

            “What are you best at?”  Nyota asked, changing the subject.

            Her question puzzled Spock. 

            “What do you mean? Are you referring to school work?”  She asked. 

            Nyota tilted her head as though thinking for a moment. 

            “Yeah, but magic.  What are you best at that muggles don’t do?”  She clarified. 

            Spock considered the query. 

            “I possess a natural aptitude for arithmancy and astronomy, and I enjoy flying.  Soon my mother intends to begin instructing me in potions.”  She answered.  Arithmancy was not difficult at all, and mathematically rather dull, but the interest lay in what it revealed about people. 

            “Wow, I wish I could do arithmancy.  I’m ok at flying.  Right now I’m learning ancient runes, but I’m best at making talismans I think.”  Nyota said.  Spock suddenly became aware that the sun had nearly completely set. Where was Michael?

            “I must return home.  Do you reside nearby?”  She asked. 

            “We’re staying with my Mama’s friend and she lives close by, by the flower market.”  Nyota stood up from the soft grass.  Together they walked back up into the meadow, which was entirely cast in shadows ad looked very different at this time of night.  Spock was glad she was wearing her cloak, though it went only too her knees.  The night was cool and the houses that lined the edge of the meadow glowed, golden light pouring through the windows. 

            Spock led Nyota to her Aunt’s home, and took her in through the kitchen door.  At the oven was a house elf, Tin, who was very agreeable and made excellent bread. 

            “Greetings Tin.  Where is Michael?”  Spock said, warming up in the hot kitchen. 

            “Miss Spock! Young master Michael been looking for you!”  Tin cried as he turned around to see her.  “He’s just come back from searching for you.  Young sir Michael, Miss Spock come back!”  The elf called through the open kitchen door.   Michael rushed in, looking flustered, his hair mussed. 

            “Where have you been?”  He demanded, spinning Spock around as though checking her for injuries. 

            “In the meadow.  My apologies for the distress my absence has caused you, I was not aware of the late hour.”  Spock apologized, as she realized how much trouble she may have caused for Michael had his parents discovered the situation. 

            “I looked all over the meadow!”  Michael insisted.  Spock controlled her guilt, and Michael visibly calmed himself.  “It’s ok, it’s ok.  Who’s your friend?”  He asked, smiling nicely at Nyota. 

            “Her name is Nyota Uhura.  Her family is visiting Radian and she currently resides near the flower market.  May we accompany her there?” Spock requested. 

            “Sure.  Tin, we’ll be back in a few.”  Michael told the house elf, who squeaked an agreement and turned back to his cooking.  They all stepped back outside and walked the several streets to the square they held the flower market in.  The square was rowed with brightly colored houses, and Nyota pointed to a red one as hers.  They walked up the front steps together and Michael rang the doorbell.  They could hear the bell sound through the house, and then someone approaching the door. 

            A lovely dark skinned woman opened the door, her hair short to the point of baldness.  Her eyes dropped to Spock and Nyota. 

            “There you are! I was just about to go looking for you, Nyota.  Where have you been?” The woman, who must have been Nyota’s mother, chastised the girl. 

            “In the meadow Mama, I didn’t know what time it was.”  Nyota told her.  Her mother seemed to accept this excuse, as she turned her attention to Michael and Spock.  “This is my new friend Spock and her cousin Michael.  Spock taught me some Vulcan.”  Nyota explained. 

            Nyota’s mother raised an eyebrow at Spock, but smiled. 

            “You must be Amanda’s girl, I didn’t realize you and Nyota were about the same age.  I was a one of your mom’s bridesmaids, you know.”  She informed them. 

            Spock shook her head.

            “I was not aware of this. I am pleased to meet a friend of my mother’s.” Spock said respectfully as she had been taught.  The surname Uhura did begin to seem familiar.  This woman must be Nuru Uhura, then. 

            “Mama can I give Spock my comm number?”  Nyota asked. 

            “Sure you can.  Let me just find a piece of paper to write it on…”  Nuru Uhura said, looking around and patting her pockets. 

            “I have one, and a porto-quill.”  Michael offered, pulling them out of his deep robe pockets.  Nuru Uhura took them with a smile and quickly jolted a string of numbers and letters on it, handing it to Nyota.  Nyota held it out to Spock with an air of grave importance, and Spock took the paper and put it in one of her robe pockets. 

            “Thank you for bringing Nyota home.”  Nuru Uhura said. 

            “No problem, it was nice meeting you.”  Michael said, before offering Spock his wrist. 

            “Mene sakkhet ur-seveh.”  She said to Nyota, taking Michael’s wrist with her right hand and raising the ta’al with her left. 

            Nyota raised the ta’al as well.

            “Sochya eh dif.”  Michael smiled goodbye to Nuru Uhura and led her back down the stairs, out of the square with its bright houses, and back to the Govenor’s house.  They entered through the front door, and Michael hung her little cloak up for her as Tin appeared. 

            “Dinner is ready for you’s and your brothers.”  He told them, before disappearing to call Jaimy and Will to the table.  Will moaned and groaned at having to come to the table, but dug in to the pasta rather quickly.  Jaimy approached the table more willingly, and took a reasonable portion while Michael helped Spock serve herself.  Jaimy was back from his first year, a Gryffindor, which had surprised everyone. 

            Spock ate neatly, watching her cousins.  They were bigger than her, older, wilder.

            “Your mum called while you were gone Spock, she said that you’d have to stay a few more days.”  Jaimy mentioned. 

            “Did she inform you as to why I am to stay here, instead of returning home, as planned?” She queried.  She enjoyed visiting with her cousins, but she had been wishing to return to the… stability of home. 

            “She just said something about your dad getting sick? I think she doesn’t want you to catch it and be sick for school.  Uncle Sarek must be very ill, because she had to get off the phone really quick.” Jaimy explained while he fiddled with his food. 

Her father was ill?  How could that be?

            “I’m sure he’s fine, Spock.  Probably just has the flu.”  Michael reassured. 

            “Do Vulcans get the flu?” Will questioned. 

            “Well, whatever he has, Aunt Amanda said that he’d definitely be better for them to go to your presentation Mikey.” Jaimy told them.

 They must have looked strange, the four of them.  The boys; they were all blonde and would likely be tall.  They all had their fathers green eyes.  Though they were mostly well mannered, except for Will, they were still human boys, and they held themselves like it.  Spock was the youngest, and smallest, and the only girl.  Her dark hair and eyes stood in contrast to theirs.  She carried herself very carefully, like a Vulcan was supposed to. 

They finished their food quickly and helped Tin clear the table. 

“I will now bathe.” She informed her cousins.  Will and Jaimy were rough housing and Michael was trying to study as well as keep an eye on them.  Spock wondered when her Uncle Cal and Aunt Elizabeth would return from the meetings with the farmers. 

Spock was old enough and responsible enough to fulfill her own hygiene and rest requirements.  She utilized their sonic shower and cleaned her teeth.  Her hair was the most time consuming part of her morning and evening ritual.  She had to brush it out, every morning and every night, and it took a comparatively large portion of her time due to its length.  Long hair was the fashion on Vulcan, at least amongst young women, so she continued with the practice.  Her hair curled slightly more than the average Vulcan’s did, and it made her            self-conscious, and long for a hair straightening potion. 

When finally she was clean she went back downstairs and worked on her school work.  Jaimy sat next to her and read the reading he had been assigned for the summer.  While Vulcan schools did not have the year schedule that many Earth schools had, they did allot several weeks of breaks throughout the year.  Spock would return to school next week, and her age group would begin new course material. 

She was already wondering how she was intended to attend Hogwarts as well as keep up with her Vulcan school work.  Her father was accepting, but he would not go so far as agree to allow Spock to halt her non magical studies.  Of course, Hogwarts had non magical studies, but it simply wasn’t to the standard of education that Vulcans held.  Padds didn’t work at Hogwarts, nothing technological could handle that much juvenile magic.  But perhaps there was a magical way for her to study both at Hogwarts and receive her Vulcan school work?

She would have to enquire about such a way the next time she was at Diagon Alley. 

Spock was conflicted about attending Hogwarts.  She did desire to study more about magic, and do the things that people in Wixen society did, but Spock was concerned that she would face the same bigotry there as she did on Vulcan.  Only, instead of going home at the end of the day, she would have to remain at the school, with her bullies, for months on end.  What if Human children were even worse to her than Vulcan children?

Her stomach churned at the very thought of being forced to reside in the same building as T’Pring, possibly even sleep in the same room. 

Her eyelids were beginning to droop, and Spock resigned herself to completing her homework another night. 

“I will sleep now.  Goodnight.” She said to the boys.  Will and Michael ceased their squabbling to look up. 

“Good night Spock.”  They said in unison.

“Night Spock.” Jaimy said, quieter. 

Spock climbed up the stairs, leaving behind their energy and noise.  The room they had set aside for Spock was small, but the bed was comfortable and it had a decent sized window which looked out onto the street. 

The room was colder than she was accustomed to, the entire planet was colder than she was accustomed to.  Spock shivered as she changed into her pajamas and slipped into the sheets.  Her thoughts turned to her father, and his apparent illness.  Was he alright?  What could he possibly be ill with?  Had he contracted an infection on a visit to another planet?  She would have to enquire with her mother. 

She first sat in a meditation pose, ignoring the cold.  She sunk through her conscious, to the center of herself.  The room was larger than it had been when she was 7.  She had experienced more emotions.  The emotions of the day needed to be considered.  She had felt irritated with Will for bothering Michael while he was studying and impatient with Michael for taking so long studying.  She considered them.  The irritation stemmed from her desire to see Michael succeed, and her belief that Will interrupting studying would lower his chances of the presentation going well.  The impatience stemmed from her desire to go to the meadow, and her superior reading level led to her belief that Michael should have been done with studying by then.  She rolled the feelings into balls and through them away from her, letting them go.  Some emotions you keep, some you throw away.  You store the ones that troubled you most. 

She had felt intimidated, but awed by Nyota.  She had desired to please her, so that Nyota would like her.  Intimidated, because she had seemed so poised.  So sure of herself, and confident, in a way that Spock could never hope to be.  The most Spock could ever attain was a look of stability.  Nyota had glowed.  She placed the memory of intimidation in its proper place, next to uncertainty.  The desire to please, to be liked, stemmed from Spock’s loneliness.  She desired friendship that did not exist merely because of shared blood.  Her dual heritage, her triple heritage, kept her from having such a companion.  Loneliness went in a box. 

The embarrassment she had felt upon speaking.  It had exposed her loneliness, as well as her eagerness to please.  Shame was the same as embarrassment.  She put it in a box because it troubled her heavily, and put it next to the other boxes of shame.  Those boxes were numerous.  Spock had enough for a whole lifetime, she thought. 

The exhaustion of the day overwhelmed her.  She ended her meditation abruptly, and laid down.  The blankets were warm, too warm by human standards, but they were satisfactory for her Vulcan needs. 

She had been too tired to meditate on possibly the most important matter.  The strange longing she had felt when Nyota had mentioned a desire to leave home.  The feeling had been very physical.  It had given her the same sensation she had felt when she had smashed her protective amulet. 

The sensation had not been meditated on, so it revealed itself in her dreams.  Vulcans rarely dreamt, and neither did Spock.  In her dream, she was a statue.  A beautiful stone statue, placed in the courtyard of the Vulcan Science Academy.  People respected her, and admired her control, but she couldn’t do anything.  The only science she heard was what was mentioned in the conversations of passersby’s. She felt no physical sensations, she never had to bow to pain or the side effects of emotion ever again, but still, she was unsatisfied.  She could not not move, she could not discuss.  Birds landed on her.  

Spock was exactly where she was supposed to be, acting exactly as she was expected too, and she was admired for it.  No one called her a halfbreed, or illogical, or any of the cruel things that had been muttered in the market. She never had to be concerned about losing control of her emotions.  Though she did not see her Father, somehow she knew that he was pleased with her behavior. 

But the birds kept landing on her.  People walked past her.  She was an object, one that could be ignored now that it was behaving as it was meant too.  Spock longed to abandon her place, but she was a statue, and could not move. Somewhere within her stone body, she could sense her heart struggle against this.  She became angry.  She was enraged that she could fail at something as easy as being a statue, when finally she had everything she wanted and she just had to stand there.  She was furious that she would allow herself to be imprisoned here, that she had wanted to be a statue.  She was angry that she was angry.  She stood in the courtyard in the sun, and the electrical storms, and monsoon season, and no one ever looked at her. 

Time passed oddly in the dream, so she became aware that she had stood there for many years. 

She noticed someone in a wixen cloak watching her from across the courtyard, and she wanted to inform that they were breaking The Interplanetary Statue of Wixening Secrecy, but she could not open her mouth. She did not know who the person in the cloak was, but she felt that perhaps she knew them.  The day passed in the dream blur, and suddenly she was standing on her platform at night, the stars clear like they never actually were in the city. 

The cloaked figure stood below her, and reached out with a gloved fist.  They unfolded their hand to dancing flame. 

Spock woke up suddenly, her heartbeat erratic.  The dream had been very vivid, and rather frightening. It seemed as though the dream was suggesting that the path she had chosen would not bring her satisfaction, that she may eventually be accepted into Vulcan society but she would never be valued.  Spock shook her head. There was no need to pay heed to a dream.  Especially not one with a cloaked figure with fire hands.  It was ridiculous.  Entirely without logic. 

The sun was just beginning to rise and the sky was filling with weak light.  Spock slid out of bed, still not tall enough for her feet to rest on the floor. 


	12. Chapter 12

“Her telepathy is strong.” The Vulcan healer told her parents.  Spock and her father kept their faces calm, undisturbed as always. Mother’s brow knitted.  

“Strong?” She asked, her handing reaching out and curling around Spock protectively. 

“Affirmative. At the time of her conception we had simply ensured she would be capable of telepathy, we did not alter her abilities. She is naturally a strong touch telepath. I will refer you to Healer Syrok, who will be able to provide you with a more precise measure of her abilities.” The healer said all this while he transferred the referral to them.  He turned to them abruptly when he was done.  “Live long and prosper.” He told them, tone curt. He left the room before they could reply.  

It was like she had been slapped, his exit.  As always, she didn't let it show. Her face was always expressionless, always cool and calm and precise and she was without reproach. The hybrid girl was 10.899 years old, she could not hide under cover of childhood anymore.  Truthfully speaking, though of course she was always truthful as Vulcans could not lie, she could never hide behind childhood. She had always been judged with an adults measure. So, her face was always smooth.  Her pace was measured.  Her hands stayed clasped behind her back.  She made herself as cool and smooth as polished stone, but still, it was not enough. T’Pring had calmed with age, matured into something that was not kindness but was not her old cruelty.  Stonn and his friends had taken her place, and they were harsher than T’Pring had been, quicker to physical violence, they used adult words and ideas. Ideas bigger than ugly, bigger than dumb.  Ideas like unnatural, like racial purity. 

Stonn had pinched her the day before, bare hand on her bare skin, their child’s shields all that protected their minds from each other.  Stonn had been unaffected but she had been left shaking, unable to speak and give an explanation to the school’s healer. Luckily, a treatment protocol for Vulcans was a telepathy dampening rest bed.  She was able to regain her control and inform the healer of what had happened, and her parents had been called and her mother collected her from school.  

Spock was accustomed to going to the healer, but she did not enjoy it.  They always desired to run tests, they always asked for blood and tissue and they poked at her, asked her invasive questions, the answers for whom she’d prefer to lock inside her as she was meant to do with everything else. But still, she had to sit there with her parent and a healer and whatever assistant the healer had and answer any question the healer might have today, because she was the only one like her to ever live and they would probably one day win an award for their work in creating hybrids, in creating her. They asked her if she menstruated, if she slept through the night, if she had dreams about coitus, if she was growing pubic hair. Healers made her want to die with shame, which was a hyperbole, which was illogical and emotional, and which made her want to die with shame. 

Then she had her appointments with her wixen Healer because her magic wasn't progressing as it should and they were often examining her, always, to determine what exactly was wrong with her.  Finally, it had been determined that she was simply less magically developed than other human children her age because she did not have the body of human children her age.  Vulcans grew more slowly than Humans did, and so did she, though she grew slightly faster than Vulcans did. 

She would simply have to wait until she was 12 to attend Hogwarts.  Within herself she wondered if this would be the year she tipped the scales between her halved heritages and came down on Vulcan. 

Would it hurt her mother if she chose to be Vulcan? Would it hurt her mother if she one day underwent kholinar? 

Kholinar was a new thought for her. She considered it often, since Sybok had come and gone.

Mother and Father took her to Mind Healer Syrock’s office, and he had her sit in an uncomfortable chair and waved medical devices around her. He affixed electrodes to her head and had her attempt meditation. At the end of the session they all sat down, them across from Mind Healer Syrock and her between her parents. 

“My medical opinion is that Spock’s telepathy is her own and not the result of possible gene manipulation and her hybrid origin. It is stronger than is typical, especially for one of her age.” He told them, before her parents could ask any questions.  He was more polite than her other healer, at least. Spock wondered if the healer was thinking of the failure of her brother.  Perhaps it was not the human DNA that caused her deficiencies.  Perhaps it was the Vulcan side after all.  The House of Surak must have been cursed for she and he to be its only blood heirs.  

“Please be more specific as to the strength of her telepathy,” Father requested.  The Healer nodded. 

“It is difficult to be precise in this. There is Spock’s strength now, and the strength she may one day be capable of, if her development continues at its projected rate. As of now she is a 2.2 on the T’Pev Telepathic Scale.  The average Vulcan child is a 1. I have not had the honor of measuring T’Sai S’Chn T’Gai T’Pau, but she is an 8.5.  Spock has the potential to attain such strength.  The difficulty is that with this increased strength, some find emotional control to be more troublesome. I recommend increased meditation, to 2 hours a night. If you are concerned that another incident like the one at school will occur, I recommend Spock wear telepathic protective gloves.” The Healer said.  Spock carefully bit the inside of her lip, so no one could see her do it.  She could be as strong as her grandmother, but emotional as a human.  

Father nodded. Mother coiled her arm around Spock, like she did in the other Healer’s office. 

“I would like to examine her again, in one year.” Healer Syrock told them. 

Mother and Father exchanged a glance over her head and nodded in agreement. 

“We find that acceptable. Live long and prosper.” Father said as they all stood to leave. 

“Peace and long life.” Healer Syrock replied. 

They were quite in the hovercar as they returned to their home.  

It was strange to be told there was a strong likelihood of her one day being as strong as her grandmother.  She kept thinking it.  It seemed impossible, but a healer had said it. Spock began constructing her next letter to Nyota.  This news would have to come first, instead of her news that she and Nyota would be in the same year at Hogwarts together.  The Hogwarts news would come second. Thirdly, her response to the humorous anecdote Nyota had relayed about an incident with bully boy who had ripped up the flower Nyota was going to give to a girl she liked and Nyota put gum in his hair. 

They pulled up to the residence in silence, and none of them spoke until they’d stepped inside the threshold. 

“I will inform my mother, so that she may guide Spock’s training.  I am no longer qualified.” Father said.  Father would not teach her anymore? Mother nodded.  

“Come on Spock, let's see if Beaky needs any help with dinner.” Mother told her. 

Beaky never needed any help, and she especially never desired any help.  She had dinner grilling when they entered the kitchen.  It was vegetarian of course, but there was a tofu chicken substitute for Mother.  

“Miss Spock, come ‘ere.  Give this a taste,”  Beaky told her, stirring at a small pot 

over the fire. Spock approached the pot, finding it to hold clear broth.  Beaky handing her the brimming ladle and Spock sipped at it dutifully.  

“It has a pleasant mild flavor. Will dinner include multiple courses?” She questioned.  

“Nay miss.  This broth be special for you.  It’ll help you grow,” Beaky chirped as she gestured for Spock to finish the rest of the broth in the ladle.  

Oh.  Was even Beaky dissatisfied with her slow magic?  Spock drank the broth as she was instructed, but now she wondered if her Mother had asked Beaky to make this.  Surely her Mother was not so disappointed by her development?

Spock drank the rest of the broth in the ladle. If her mother wanted her bigger, wanted her magic to develop as a human child's’ would, Spock would try.  

Beaky nodded with approval when Spock handed her the empty ladle. She remained calm, impassive. Her father had taught her well.  As well as he could, for today it seemed all the more clear that a part of her would always be found lacking. 

“I must complete my assigned school work Mother,” she told her. Mother nodded.  School work was always most important in their household.  If Father was a wizard, he would have been a Ravenclaw as well. Spock knew already what house she would be  in when she went to Hogwarts. Aunt Elizabeth said that blue was Spock’s color.  She entered her quiet and still room. It was simple, with white walls and a mural of the known galaxy painted on the ceiling. Her window looked out onto the forge. 

She sat at her desk and finished her assigned work on her padd, because she could not lie. Spock inspected the mural, eyes scanning for where she knew Earth would be. She located it, barely more than a green dot.  Soon she would be spending the majority of her time there. She had visited earth before a number of times, and she was accustomed to her family, as well as her frequent communications with Nyota. However, she had never spent such an extended amount of time there, nor had she interacted with so many humans.  

It seemed now that all her time was spent pondering how to best be a Vulcan as well as a Witch. She had a desire to be liked that lived within her, and no matter how much she meditated, it would not go away.  

The desire created shame within her, so that now when she meditated there were boxes upon boxes shame, sometimes so many that they were all she could see, but she was similarly crowded with loneliness and anger and  rebellion.  The boxes remained sealed, but she would put her hands on them sometimes, and feel the emotions churn inside. 

She decided that writing to Nyota was a better use of her time than these illogical thoughts. 

_ Greetings Nyota, _

 

_ Today i attended appointments with several healers, Vulcan and Wixen.  I will tell you first of the Vulcan healers.  Yesterday there was an incident involving my accidental exposure to a fellow student's bare skin, and it caused a minor telepathic episode. My healer informed my parents and i that my telepathy is naturally strong.  He said that one day i may be as strong as my grandmother, who is a highly respected on Vulcan, partially for her touch telepathy strength.   _

_ My Wixen healer informed us that my magic was developing slower than that of a human child, and that it would be prudent to delay my enrollment in Hogwarts by one year.  We shall be in the same year. _

She paused her writing. Shame, her constant companion, welled inside her at this weakness.  Spock hoped that her increased meditation would be able to rid her of these emotions.  Once she had thought it was possible for her two sides to coexist, but now she considered that the reason she was mediocre as both Vulcan and Human was because she was trying to exist as a contradiction. A Vulcan could not allow themselves to be guided by emotion. She knew that now.  Sybok had taught her that.  The brother she had not known had arrived one day, stayed the spring. He was older than her, 17, much taller, with an oval face and a flat nose, ungroomed eyebrows.  He looked distinctly unvulcan, but he was the sibling she had always desired.  She had desired a younger sibling so that she was not alone, not the only human-vulcan ever, but Sybok had confided in her that he felt just as conflicted as she.  

Her brother had arrived in the month of Z’at, brought by the adepts after his mother’s death, and had run away by the month of T’keKhuti, not even staying a full year.  

His absence was unacknowledged by her parents, by Beaky.  No one mentioned that she had a brother, that her father had a son, that her mother had cared for him as if he was her own.  They never spoke of him at all, but Spock thought of him often.  She wondered where he was, what he was doing.  He had told her he was going to find 

Sha-ka-ri. 

The day he left, their father had alerted the authorities, but Sybok managed to evade them.  Father sat in his study all day, and would not speak to anyone. When he finally exited his office, he informed them that Sybok was not to be spoken of.  It taught Spock what would happen if she failed, if she shamed the clan.  

She would be logical, no matter her deficiencies, no matter her emotional heart. Perhaps if Sybok had never been born, perhaps if he had not chosen emotion, she would not have had the reputation of the House of Surak in her hands. Perhaps she might have gone to space, and never returned.  But now all of Vulcan watched her, waiting for her to be less than impeccable, more than ever.  They were like vultures, waiting for her to fail, to falter. She would not give them the satisfaction. She would study, and learn, and make herself so useful and necessary that everyone needed her, and that no one would dare disrespect her, or even desire to. She would not be a disappointment like Sybok had been.  This she had sworn to herself after he left.  

Logic would guide her, and her heart would be empty.  Father would never have to turn away from her. 

Spock turned back to the letter. 

_ I look forward to being your school-mate. Are you still certain it will be Gryffindor for you? I must confess, that though you are quite brave, i believe any of the houses would suit you. It is pleasing to me to know i shall be present when your house is revealed. I find that i am still quite certain of my placement in Ravenclaw.  How does your study of amulets and charm bags progress?  _

_ What does your family intend to do for the summer? My cousin Will will be returning from his first year at Hogwarts.  He was sorted into Gryffindor, which was entirely expected.  _

_ My Grandmother has begun to speak of Hogwarts to me.  My mother provided reading material on the curriculum and since then Grandmother has made it point to study Hogwarts, as well as the culture i will be exposed to when i am there. She asks me about magic quite often, as does my father, though they ask me just as often about my Vulcan academics and my musical skill. In that vein of thought, i have a performance with my lyre class next month.  We will be performing for Tal-Shanar, a private Vulcan holiday.  _

_ Why did the boy destroy your flower? Surak’s philosophies do not include retaliation, but your method was ingenious.  _

_ Mene sakkhet ur-seveh, _

_ Spock _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like.... I cant decide if i want to cisswap Jim as well? let me know what you think


	13. Chapter 13

June 17, 2242

Spock held the thick parchment in her slim hands.  It was mid June on Earth, and Hogwarts had sent out the letters, and here was hers.   _Dear Ms. Grayson,_ it read in rich emerald ink, _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Cordelia Zambini,_

_Deputy headmistress_

She was 12.291 years old, and soon she would leave her home and live amongst a people that would not understand her, far from her parents.  Her mother was in the kitchen, preparing Spock’s favorite foods to celebrate, as well as a cake.  She had been thrilled that Spock’s letter had come, and she wondered if her mother had lost hope that her daughter would ever be a real witch.  She knew the arrival of the letter would cause her father to believe she wasn't a true Vulcan.  Whatever peace had existed in the years prior were gone, she knew she had to choose.  She always endeavored for Vulcan.

Her padd beeped, she had a message.  

_Nyota: I got my letter!_

_Spock: I have received mine as well._

_Nyota: This is so exciting!!_

_Spock: Yes, I look forward to beginning our studies._

_Nyota: i can't wait to be sorted_

_Spock: Why is that?_

_Nyota: don't you want to know where you truly fit?_

Spock set the padd down.   _Yes, that would be ideal,_ she thought.  

 

The dinner was excellent.  There was plomeek soup and yon-savas, a fruit similar to earth dates.  Later, there would be a small cake, iced with stawberry frosting.  Her mother had had Beaky open a bottle of crisp betazoid cider.  

“We’ll go shopping for all your school supplies soon.  You’ll have to be fitted for some robes,” mother told her, brow wrinkled.  

“Your school must be notified in the alteration in your schedule,” father said.  Mother nodded.  

“Yes, we will have to tell them we are sending you to Earth to educate you about your human heritage.  You’ll need a really nice cloak, you’ll be cold in the winter.”  Her mother’s face took on a look of careful worry at all the ways she may need things while she was away from home.  “I’m so glad your Aunt Rebecca is on Earth and the boys are at Hogwarts.”  Michael had finished his seventh year that spring, but Jaimy was beginning his sixth year and Will his third, though she had no expectation of being placed in the same house as either of them.  She respected the house of the brave, but knew it wasn't where she would be placed.  It would be Ravenclaw, her mother’s house, for her.  

 

August 25, 2242

Diagon Alley was busy with students and their families purchasing school supplies.  Spock had already purchased the required books as well as a few others for recreational reading,and her parents were discussing where they should go next.  

They came upon Twilfitt and Tatting's, and it was decided that they’d have her robes made there. They entered the shop, so quiet and calm compared to the street.  A woman in navy robes greeted them.  

“Hello Ms. Grayson, how can I help you today?” she asked, eyes straying to Spock and her father.  

“My daughter is going to Hogwarts.  She needs school robes made.”  Mother told her.  The woman nodded.  

“Of course, if you’ll just come this way,” she led them all down a hallway away from the off the rack clothing.  It was a room with three dressing rooms, each dressing room having a platform in the middle and a large mirror.  One of the dressing rooms was already occupied by a blonde girl, who appeared similar to Spock in age, an older woman, and a shop worker who was displaying fabrics.  The blonde girl met her eye as she was led into the dressing room and smiled at her in greeting.  

The shop woman gestured for Spock to step up onto the platform and then waved her wand, making it raise another foot. A measuring tape flew around, wrapping around her waist and taking note of her height.  Spock was small, even compared to human children her age.  

“The standard charms are included in the base price, wand hold in the sleeve, stain resistant, but we can add others for an additional fee.”  The shop woman told them as she pulled samples of fabric out of a drawer.  

“What purposes do the additional charms serve?” Father asked as Mother inspected the fabrics.  

“Some of them are more custom to the purchaser, but we can make them warmer, a built in glamour charm, self-ironing, or they can be charmed to grow with her to a certain extent.”  The shop woman told them.  

“We’ll want self-ironing, a warmer and growth charm, and mud repellent on the the hem.  For the cloak we’ll want all of those again, as well as rain repellent.  Spock do you like this fabric or this one?” Mother held out two pieces of black fabric.  She touched them both, carefully considering.  

“This one.”  She said.  

“Cloaks are typically wool.  Most families order two, one in black and one in house colors.”  The shop woman told them, putting the fabric away and pulling out silver clasps.  “If these aren't to your liking we can custom make something of your specifications.”  

The clasps came in simple geometrics, in lions or snakes or badgers or eagles, in house crests, in flowers and leaves, in dragons, in hearts, there were so many shapes.  Of course, a clasp was a clasp, and it was most important that it serve it purpose well.  

“I would like a custom clasp, please,” she told the shop woman, pulling out her idic pendant necklace from under her robes.  “Of this design.”

“Of course, would you like it on both cloaks?” She asked, taking the necklace.

“Yes.”  

Alright, three black robes with custom charms, two cloaks with custom clasp, one black one house color, and one black pointed hat,” the shop woman read out the list.

“That is correct.”  Father said.

“Please sign.” She asked, and handed Mother a quill.  “We’ll deliver them to the residence listed on your account when they are ready.”  

Back out on the street, it was decided they’d take her to get her wand next.  Ollivanders wand shop was dusty and crowded with shelves.  An old woman and a young man stepped out from between shelves.  

“Ah, young Miss Grayson, I’ve been waiting for you. I heard word you couldn't make magic from some gossips, but i knew you could, and that you’d be needing a wand.  Now, lets see, you’re rather short.”  the old woman, presumably Mrs. Ollivander, told her, a tape measurer flitting about Spock.  

“How did you know she would have magical abilities?” Father asked, eye on the measurer.  

“Fetch me an Ash, a Blackthorn, and ah, lets have a Elder,” Mrs.  Ollivander told the young man.  “My great nephew, Constantine. I could tell, there’s something in the look of her. Amanda Grayson, how is your wand?  Unicorn tail hair, Rowan wood, ten inches, whippy.” Mrs. Ollivander asked, hobbling closer to Spock, peering at her from behind thick glasses.  

“My wand serves me well, the Ollivanders do excellent work.”  Mother answered politely.

Constantine returned with several boxes.  

“First the Blackthorn.  These are very well suited to a warrior,” she said, handing her the wand.  “Give it a wave.”  

Spock did, but the curtains only fluttered.  

“Hmm. The Ash then.”  

Spock waved the new wand, and the curtains did not even twitch.  

There was a gleam in Mrs. Ollivander’s eye and a smile on Constantine's face.

They handed her the Elder.

“Elders are very rare, and generally not a first wand.”  Constantine said.  

Spock waved it, and the window shattered.  She and her parents stared at it for a moment, eyes widened and brows raised, but Mrs Ollivander and Constantine didn't seem bothered.

“Perhaps a Maple?”

“Yes, and a Hawthorn.”Constatine hurried off again, but returned quickly with several more boxes.  

“Hawthorn first,” Mrs. Ollivander decided, and handed Spock the wand.  

She waved it, and the room seemed to glow.  

“Ah, thats the one.  Hawthorn, dragon heartstrings core, 11 inches, rather rigid.  Congratulations, Miss Grayson,” Mrs. Ollivander said, offering the parchment for mother to sign.  

“Thank you Mrs. Ollivander, live long and prosper.”  Spock told her.  The old woman laughed.  

“I’ve already done that!” she said as they stepped out the door.

Lastly they stopped at the pet store.  Spock had not had a pet since I-Chaya, but her mother insisted that she should “look around and see if any seemed nice.”  She thought that perhaps an owl would be most useful, which would be the logical choice.  She walked down the rows of cats and came to a dead stop at the sight of one.  It was a black cat, sleek and with a long thick tail.  It’s eyes were green and intelligent.  It wore a diamond pendant as a collar, and the tag on it's cage read “Sylvia.”  Spock was drawn to the cat.  

“This one.”  She told her parents, and picked up the cat.   

“You are certain?” Father asked.

“Yes.  This is the pet I choose.”  She told them firmly, Sylvia already purring in her arms.  At the counter, the clerk smiled.  

“You’re getting Sylvia! She’s a good choice, very calm.  Would you like a cage to transport her in?” The clerk, a young wixen, asked.  

“Yes, we’ll need food and treats too.” Mother requested.

“Of course!” They said, and hurried into the back room.   They soon reappeared with with a silver cage and two bags, one of food and the other treats.  

“And if you’ll give me a moment, I’ll cast the tracking spell.”  The clerk waved her wand, “lota locum.”  She said.  “If she’s ever lost, cast a Reperio and you’ll be led to her.”

Mother signed the parchment and they exited the shop. They had many things to carry, Mother loaded down with books and supplies, father carrying the supplies for Sylvia.  Spock herself held Sylvia carefully as they made their way down to the floo network.  They all stepped into the fireplace together and her father dropped the floo powder, sending them all home to the Grayson family home, where Aunt Rebecca lived.  It was a large house, old, but it wasn't cramped and dark in the way many old homes were.  It had large windows that overlooked the rolling green hills, and it always smelled pleasant, jasmine in summer and cinnamon in winter.

“Did you get everything?” Aunt Rebecca asked, looking up from where she was discussing dinner with Flit, an elderly house elf.  

“We got everything,” mother told her as several house elves appeared to take their things.  “Thank you.” she told them.  

“You got a cat! Whats her name?” aunt Rebecca asked, stroking her tail.

“Her name is Sylvia.”  Spock told her aunt.  

“A little witch with a black cat, how adorable.  Sarek was this your first time in Diagon Alley?” Aunt Rebecca asked.  

“Affirmative.  It was fascinating.” Father said.  

“May I go to my room?” Spock asked.  

“Yes sprocket,” Mother said.

Spock took Sylvia up the stairs to her room, where she allowed her to lay on her bed.  She would need to purchase a cat bed for her, once she was at Hogwarts.  Her padd beeped.  

Nyota had sent her a picture of herself surrounded by textbooks.  Her friend was growing her hair out, and it was brushing her shoulders.  Spocks own hair had reached her lower back.  It was gathered back and partially braided, bound by black ribbons, then falling free.  

Their purchases were stacked neatly in the corner of her room.  Her wand box was on the very top of it.  She took it down and pulled her wand out of the slim box.  

Hawthorn, dragon heartstrings core, 11 inches, rather rigid.

Her very own wand.  She waved it experimentally.  Stars cascaded out of the end, and her hair floated, as though there were a slight breeze.  There was a knock at the door, father’s knock.  

“Come in,” Spock told him.  He entered, taking in the sight of her with a wand in her hand.  

“I would like to discuss something with you,” he told her, and sat in her window seat.  She sat next to him, wand in hand.  “Before I married your mother, and learned of her abilities, I did not plan for any child produced by the union leaving the home for such an extended period of time at such a young age.  However, plans must alter when new information is presented.”  Spock nodded.  “While you are residing at Hogwarts, I hope you utilize all I and Vulcan culture has taught you, and that you allow logic to guide you.”  Her father told her.  

“Of course father, I always endeavor to be guided by logic,” she told him, wand still.  

“As you should. You must also not neglect your Vulcan school work.  You must maintain your current grade levels.”  He reminded.  

“I am aware of my academic requirements, and I intend to fulfill the standards of the VSA.”  She told him.  

“I believe you are capable of doing so.”  Her father told her.  If she were human, she would be proud.  “Your mother informs me that the wood and core material of a wand influence who will be it's wielder. Tell me how this occurs?”

She nodded, and began.  

 

September 1, 2242

The train platform was crowded.  They’d flooed straight to platform 9 ¾, and were helping Spock find a place for her trunk in the luggage car.  Father picked it up and slid it into an empty spot.  She held Sylvia’s cage, the cat sitting inside it calmly.  

“We’ll send Beaky with your homework.”  Mother said, smoothing her hair down.  They’d sat together that morning while her mother had braided her hair and told her all the things she felt she needed to know.  It was an old superstition, the idea of braiding knowledge into hair, but in the world she was about to enter, superstition often held truth.  Her mother had chosen to braid her hair in a single thick herringbone braid down her back, tied with a black ribbon that mother said would change to her house color when she was sorted.  She was already in her Hogwarts robes, as it was more efficient than changing on the train.  She stepped off the train with her parents.  It was time to say goodbye.  

Her mother hugged her.  

“We’ll see you for the winter holidays.  Write as often as you can.  I love you,” she said, slightly tearful.  Spock nodded from where she was pressed to her mother’s chest.  

“Yes mother,” she told her as her mother pulled back, smiling despite the tears in her eyes.  

Father raised his hand in the salute.  

“Live long and prosper, daughter.”  He told her.  

“Peace and long life, father.”  She replied, and picked up Sylvia’s cage.  She boarded the train, and began her life’s work of ignoring stares.  The train would depart in 6.542 minutes.  Most of the compartments were full, but Spock was looking for Nyota.  They had agreed they’d sit together.  She found her towards the end of the 4th car, alone.  Spock stepped inside and Nyota hopped out of her seat to hug her.  

“Spock!” She said excitedly.  “What a  beautiful cat!”  Spock closed the car door and let Sylvia out of her cage.  

“It is pleasing to see you once again, Nyota.” she greeted.  

They sat.  

“I’m so excited.”  Nyota told her, petting Sylvia.  

Spock nodded.  

“Your enthusiasm for attending Hogwarts has been made clear, however, you have not informed me what you desire to do when your time at Hogwarts is complete,” she told her.  

“Oh, I’m gonna join Starfleet.” She said, as though it were a very easy answer.  At that moment, the car door slid open.  

The blonde girl from Twilfitt and Tatting's stood there, and next to her was an orion girl with red curly hair.  

“Can we sit in here with you?” the blonde asked.  

“Yeah, come in,” Nyota told them as the train whistle blew.  

The orion sat down while Nyota and the blonde stood at the window. Spock considered, and then stood, looking out onto the platform for her parents.  Nyota opened the window and stuck her hand out, waving to her mother and sisters.

“Bye Mama! Bye Sauda! Bye Penda!” Nyota waved. “Bye Dalila! Bye Hassina!” She yelled to all her little sisters.

“Goodbye Aggy!” The blonde shouted.

Spock found her parents and raised a salute, her mother smiling and waving while wiping her eyes.  The train pulled away from the station, and parents and siblings ran alongside the children hanging out the windows, until they could not keep up and had to stutter to a stop, the train continuing on.  Nyota and the blonde pulled themselves back in from the window and sat, the orion next to Nyota and the blonde next to Spock.  

“Hello, I’m Carol Marcus,” the blonde introduced herself.  

“I am Gaila, of the clan Vro,” the orion said next.  

“I’m Nyota Uhura,” Nyota told them, shaking hands with Carol and accepting a kiss on the cheek from Gaila.  

“I am S’Chn T’gai Spock Grayson,” Spock introduced herself, giving them a salute.  

“Is this your guys’s first year too?” Carol asked.  

They all nodded.  

“What houses do you think you’ll be put in?” Nyota sked

“I don't know the houses,” Gaila told them.  

“You don't know the houses?” Carol questioned.

“No, what are they?”

“Well there's 4 houses.  Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin.  You get sorted into one of them based on which traits you value. Gryffindor is the house of the brave.  Ravenclaw is clever.  Hufflepuff is just.  Slytherin is ambitious.”  Nyota explained.  “I think I’ll be Gryffindor.”

“As I most highly value wisdom and learning, I believe I shall be in Ravenclaw.” Spock told them all.  

“My Mother was a Slytherin.  I don't know what I’ll be.  Aggy, my nanny, was a hufflepuff.” Carol told them all.  

“I don't know what I’ll be.  What’s Hogwarts like?” Gaila asked.  She was wearing simple clothing, not in the orion style.  It was a soft orange tunic, almost betazoid in cut.  

“My Mother said it was enjoyable,” Spock told her.  “Were you only made aware of the wixen world when you received your letter?”

Gaila nodded, her curls bouncing.  

“I’m from the Argo colony.  There aren’t any castles there.” Gaila told them.  “Or trains.”   

“So are you part human?” Carol asked.

“About 1/12. One of my male parents was a human.  My doctor barely considered me a hybrid.”  They all nodded.  “The plants feel different here.” Gaila told them, unprompted.  She seemed sad.  Spock, who was accustomed to the dry arid heat of Vulcan, and was suddenly confronted with the wet cool of Earth, could understand the girl, though Spock herself did not experience sadness.

They had left the residential areas quickly, and were now surrounded by countryside.  Only her trips to Earth and Radian I had prepared her to see so much green plant life.  

“What do you all want to be when you grow up?” Nyota asked.  “I want to be a linguistic, in Starfleet.”  

Carol looked up.

“I’m joining starfleet too.  My daddy is a Commodore.  I’ll be a molecular biologist.” She told them all.   

“I will attend the Vulcan Science Academy, however I have not determined what I shall specialize in, due to my interest in a broad range of scientific topics,” Spock said, and they all turned to Gaila.

She seemed as though the question had never been asked of her.

“I like to fix things.  I’d like to do that.”  She told them.

“So like, an engineer?” Carol asked.  

Gaila looked up, and nodded a little, a slight smile curling at her mouth.  

“Yeah, an engineer.”  She said.  

Spock had never had such genial interactions with her peers.  The countryside stretched on, and Sylvia purred in her lap.  Perhaps her negative hypotheses could be altered, with these previously unforeseen positive variables.

 

Later

The other girls were changed into their robes, and Spock slipped Sylvia into her cage.  

“At least it's not raining,” Carol told them as they pulled into the station.

They stood, stretching, and made their way into the chaotic jumble in the train corridor, children pressing at each other, all desiring to leave the train and see the school.  Spock waited patiently in line, Nyota and Gaila and Carol all behind her, speaking excitedly.  When Spock looked back at them to determine that no one had forgotten anything, she thought that Gaila looked frightened.  

Spock drew in a breath, a standing meditation technique.  They stepped off the train into the crowd, and made their way to the voice crying “First years! First years come towards me!”

It was feminine person in purple robes, their hair long and gold in the light of the lantern that floated in the air next to her.

They waited, until the majority of the crowd had cleared and it was determined all first years were with them.  

“I am Healer Clearwater, I’m the counselor here, allow me to be the first to welcome you to Hogwarts!” The other children shifted nervously. “Come, we’d better get going!” She led them all through the dark, more lanterns floating around them.  Spock heard the lapping of the water long before the others, but was unable to identify it until they reached the boats at the lake.  It was a clear night, and the lights of the castle shone in the distance.  Spock stepped into the small boat, carefully holding Sylvia’s cage, the cat inside quiet.  They sat in the widest part of the boat so all 4 of  them could fit on the same seat.  They sat in silence as the paddles moved on their own, paddling towards the school.

Spock had followed her mother’s careful instructions and made certain to keep a cloak out of her trunk to wear upon arrival, and it was good that she had.  Without it and it's warming charm, she would be uncomfortably cold. She was wearing the cloak that would change to her house colors upon being sorted. A cool breeze was coming off the lake, and Nyota snuggled close to her, and Gaila did the same.  Carol had been wearing a sweater when she had boarded the train, so she did not need to do so. It took them a total of 11.328 minutes to cross the lake, most likely due to the enchanted paddles.  At the dock Carol held Sylvia’s cage as they all climbed out of the boats.  Some of the students bunched together shyly, but Spock made her way to the front of the crowd, the girls following behind.  Healer Clearwater waited for them all to get off the boats and then turned and led them up the hill.  The castle was large, impressively so.  

Large doors, at least 8.75 feet tall, swung open and they were in a large entryway.  There was another large set of doors, closed.  Spock could hear a large amount of speaking from the other side, meaning that that was probably the great hall.  

In the light she was able to examine the faces of the other students in her year.  She and Gaila appeared to be the only non-humans, but that did not mean there weren't hybrids who merely appeared entirely human.  There was a boy, who appeared much younger than the rest of them, he stood next to an east asian boy who appeared to be the standard age.  A blonde boy was introducing himself to Gaila.  

“I’m Jim, Jim Kirk,” He told her, eyebrows raising in surprise when she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, but he did not seem to dislike it.  

“I’m Gaila, of the clan Vro,” she told him, looking pleased to be making friendly acquaintances.  Before he could introduce himself to the rest of them, Healer Clearwater cleared her throat.

“In a few minutes, you will pass through these doors and be sorted into one of the 4 houses.  They are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin.  There are many who consider this your first step into society.  While you are here, and indeed often times after you have left, your house will be something like your family.  If you do well, you will earn your house points. If you break rules, you will lose your house points.  At the end of the year the house with the most points wins the house cup.  If you have your pets with you, please put them to the side of this room and they will be cared for, and brought your dorm along with your luggage after you are sorted.  I hope each one of you will be a credit to your house, and to this institution.” She told them all.  She gave them some time to set their pets aside and adjust themselves to be presentable.  “The doors are about to open, when they do I will begin to walk, and you must follow until we reach the steps, and then you must wait and be sorted. Alright?” She turned to face the doors, and they swung open.  

Spock followed as she began to walk, the great hall filled with boisterous human children and teenagers. The ceiling was a cloudless night, and she estimated that 2500 candles floated in the air above their heads.  At the end of the hall, or perhaps it could be called the front, there was a raised platform with a table.  At the table adults, teachers and facility, sat, facing the room.  The students sat at four tables, and the group of first years walked down the middle, between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.  To Ravenclaw’s right was the Gryffindor Table, and to Hufflepuff’s left was the Slytherin table.

Healer Clearwater ascended the stairs and they waited, a hat on a stool sat next to her.  The hat was very old, ancient looking.  Suddenly it shifted, and opened a seam, more like a mouth, and began to sing.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve and chivalry,

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin,

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means,

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

 

The students cheered when the hat finished it's song, but Spock was busy wondering what degree of sentience it had.  

Healer Clearwater unrolled a scroll.

“Come forward when i call your name. Abrahamson, Debra.”  The first student hesitantly made her way up the stairs and sat on the stool, Healer Clearwater settling the hat on her head.  The room waited in silence for the first sorting.  

“Slytherin!” The hat cried, and the room cheered, but none so loud as the students seated at Slytherin table.  Debra Abrahamson smiled as the hat was removed and she made her way to her table.  

“Adams, Harry.”  Healer Clearwater called.  The boy sat, and this time the hat was quiet for 3.572 minutes before it decided.  

“Ravenclaw!” It shouted.  Then there was Bello, Antonio: Hufflepuff.   Brown, Jayze: Gryffindor.   Chao, Morgan:Gryffindor.   Chapel, Christine: Hufflepuff.    Chekov; Pavel: Ravenclaw.   Chen, Li Peng: Ravenclaw.   Cromwell, Samuel: Huflepuff.   Dursely, Rose; Slytherin.   Fig, Maria: Ravenclaw.   Garcia, Diego: Ravenclaw.   Ghosh, Pranay: Hufflepuff.

“Grayson, Spock.” Healer Clearwater read from the scroll, and Spock made her way up the steps, expressionless as always. The hat descended over her eyes.  There was a whispering from the crowd.   

“A hybrid! Hybrids are generally difficult, but I think you’ll be the biggest challenge yet.  I remember sorting your mother, the poor girl wanted to be placed in Gryffindor with her elder sister, but she loved learning to much.”  The hat began to speak in her ear.  

“I would like to be placed in Ravenclaw please.” She told it, or rather, thought to it.  

“Yes, yes.  Are you absolutely certain?  I see an appreciation for bravery, a large amount of respect for hard work and justice.”

“Place me where you believe I belong, but I have thought often on the matter and the most likely placement will be Ravenclaw.”  She thought.  

The hat hmmmed and mmmed, but 1.474 minutes later came to a decision.  

“Ah, you are your mother’s daughter.” It decided, and announced to the crowd, “Ravenclaw!” The hat was pulled off her head, and she went to sit at the Ravenclaw table, nodding to Nyota, Carol and Gaila as she passed.  Her cloak was blue now, and so were the ribbons in her hair, as well as the stripes on her tie.  

She found a place, next to Pavel Chekov, the boy that appeared distinctly younger than everyone else.  “Hello,” she greeted as she sat down.  The sorting continued.

There was Hassen, Abreeq: Gryffindor.  Hernandez, Dalazya: Slytherin.   Irwinson, Caleb: Hufflepuff.  Kaleka, Daisy: Ravenclaw.   Kirk, James, the blonde boy who had spoken to Gaila.  The hat barely touched his head before it declared him a Gryffindor.  Then Lazar, Brianna: proclaimed a Hufflepuff after 11.418 minutes.  Lee, Richard: Hufflepuff.  Lovell, Sabrina: Slytherin. Lupin, Allison: Gryffindor.  

“Marcus, Carol,” was called.  Carol sat on the stool and the hat covered her head.  

“Slytherin!” It called.   _Like her mother_ , Spock noted.  

Moorhead, Dylan: Slytherin; Potter, Luna: Ravenclaw; Regmi,Yashvi: Gryffindor; Rivera, Joy: Hufflepuff.  Douglas, Scott: Gryffindor; Sodhi, Rhetta: Slytherin.  

“Sulu, Hikaru!” Was called, and Pavel Chekov sat up too see better.

“Slytherin!” The hat cried, and Pavel seemed disappointed.

Terzi, Cari: Ravenclaw,  

“Uhura, Nyota!”  Spock watched her eldest friend walk up the steps.  

There was a slight delay, 45.6 seconds, before the hat shouted Gryffindor.  

There were only 4 students waiting to be sorted.  

“Vro, Gaila!” Was called.  Gaila sat on the stool, and that hat spent a minute exactly sorting her, before it declared that she too was a Gryffindor.  Weasley, Aaron: Hufflepuff; Whilem, Thomas: Slytherin.  Yi, Eliza, was sorted last, Gryffindor.  There was a general relief over the room that the process was over.  

The man at the center of the platform, who’s spot led Spock to believe he must have been Headmaster Malfoy, stood.  

“I’ll give my speech once we’ve eaten, as I’m sure we’re all very hungry!  For now I will simply say, welcome back to Hogwarts, and lets eat,” at the word eat, platters of food appeared on the tables. The headmaster sat down as students excitedly made their plates, talking to each other.

Pavel Chekov looked uncertain about the food. There was an abundance of dishes; chicken, shepherd's pie, mashed potatoes, spaghetti, dumplings, fish she did not recognize, and any number of other dishes.

“Excuse me but do you see the kosher food?” he asked her quietly.  

“That depends as to how strictly you adhere to kosher regulations, as I understand there is some variance,” she told him.  

He nodded, curls bouncing slightly.  

“I can't eat pork, or meat with dairy, but it doesn’t matter if it's at the same table,” he explained. “My brothers have never had a problem, so it must be here.”  He was speaking standard with a very heavy accent.

Spock nodded.  She herself was attempting to locate a suitable vegetarian option.

“There is macaroni and cheese, next to the sculpture of an eagle made of pears. I can also see several vegetable dishes that are likely to be kosher,” she informed him.  He opened his mouth to speak, but silver figures- ghosts- rose out of the tables, the floor, and through the walls.  While under normal circumstances Spock would have been pleased to interact with a ghost and learn more about the afterlife, that evening she merely desired to eat and rest.

“O Bozhe! They scared me,” Pavel told her.  

“They appeared suddenly, it is logical that they startled you as you were not expecting them.” The macaroni and cheese was far down the table, but there was an empty spot in front of it.  In fact, everything near it appeared to be appropriate for dietary restrictions.  “Come.”  She told him, and stood from the table.  She did not look back to see if he was following her, because she could hear him awkwardly getting up and apologizing to people.  

“How old are you, Pavel?” She asked as they sat in front of the appropriate food.  She was able now to fill a golden plate for herself.

"I'm 10, ah,” he said, blushing.  

“My name is Spock.  I was not aware that Hogwarts granted early admission.”  She poured herself a goblet of pumpkin juice.  

“Please, call me Pasha.  Usually not, but my parents want me to finish with Hogwarts early, so I can focus on my muggle education.”  He had obviously been very hungry, as his plate was now completely filled.  

“My own parents desire for me to devote myself to my Vulcan education, they have arranged for my home assignments to be brought to me.  At what stage are you of your human muggle education, Pasha?” She asked.  

“I have just begun muggle high school,” he told her with a raised chin, proud.  

Spock nodded, in acknowledgment of this accomplishment.  

“That is very advanced for someone of your age.  What do you intend to do once you complete your mandatory education?” Spock asked.  

He looked down at his plate.  

“Well, I’d like to join Starfleet.” He pushed his food around without eating it.  

“Why do you express hesitancy?” She questioned.  

“My parents don't want me to go,” Pasha explained.  “But I will conwince them.  What will you do, Spock? When you grow up?”

This was the second time that day she’d been asked.  

“I will join the Vulcan Science Academy.  It is a very prestigious institution.  You said you have brothers?” She watched as clouds gathered on the ceiling mural, turning the night sky even darker.  

“Da! I have 6 older brothers, all Hufflepuff.  The eldest is Alexi, he’s 19, he’s a botanist. Then there is Vadim, he’s 17 he’s here getting his newts.  Then Boris is 16, he finished school and is working for my papa.  Sergei is 15, he’s getting his owls this year but he says he wants to be like Boris.  Piotr is 13, he’s seeker for Hufflepuff.  Viktor is 12.  Do you have siblings?” He asked, unaware that no one on Vulcan ever spoke of her sibling.  

“Negative, i do not have siblings.  However, I do have cousins that are in attendance here.  Michael was a Slytherin and completed his education last year, and he is apprenticed in the Department of Interplanetary Magical Cooperation.  Jaimy is a 6th year Gryffindor, obtaining the required newts to begin training as a healer.  Will is a 3rd year Gryffindor.”  She looked over the Gryffindor table and easily located her youngest cousin, blonde and laughing greatly.  “My parents were unable to conceive a viable child other than myself.”  

It seemed that the majority of those in the room had finished their dinners.  Even Pasha had eaten all of the food on his brimming plate.  Just as suddenly as the food had appeared, it disappeared, and was replaced with dessert. There were trifles and cobbler, pies and cakes, ice cream sundaes and platters of cookies.  Spock knew she could not eat chocolate, a favorite for human desserts, but there were still many options left.  Pasha grinned.  

“I did not know Wulcans ate dessert!” he exclaimed as she took a slice of thickly iced cake.  His own plate was quickly filled.  

“It is much less common, however, it does exist.  In fact, while Human cuisine tends to be based on a salty-sweet palate, Vulcan cuisine is based on spicy-sweet,” she offered. When she had thought of housemates that she could have cordial relationships with, she had not thought they would be 10 year old russian boys, but Pasha was satisfying company.  “What do you intend to do, in Starfleet?” Spock inquired.  

Pasha had just taken a large bite of cherry pie, cheeks bulging, but he nodded and swallowed all of it, brow wrinkling.  

“Um, maybe an engineer, or a nawigator.  Did you know, cherry pie was inwented in Russia?” he told her.  

Spock did not know enough about the invention and popularization of fruit pies on Earth to determine if this was true.  

“Negative, I did not know that. I look forward to beginning classes tomorrow.”  At her school on Vulcan, she attended only one lecture style class. Pasha nodded, curls bouncing.  

“I can't wait for astronomy.  And transfiguration, it’s wery like physics.” He told her.  “My brother Boris turned my cat into a pillow, but he put him back.”

“You have a cat?” She asked.  He grinned.

“Da! His name is Yuri.  My babushka’s cat had kittens and I helped her take care of them, so she let me keep one.  I’ll show you when we go to our rooms,” he promised.  

“I didn't know they were letting squibs into Hogwarts now,” a steely voice interrupted.  

Spock turned in her seat to where the voice had originated from. It was a boy at the Gryffindor table next to them.  

The boy next to him, a friend of his by appearances, nudged him with his elbow.  

“Squibs and babies.”  Both boys laughed.  They were 3rd years, by the looks of them.

Spock turned around, ignoring them.  Pasha hesitantly did the same.  

They finished their desserts, their conversation subdued.  The food disappeared, and wasn't replaced this time.  Everyone quieted, looking to the headmaster.  

“Good evening, students, and welcome to another year at Hogwarts.” Headmaster Malfoy said, standing from his where he sat.  “As returning students know, I am not one for long speeches.  As such, I will merely remind you to be polite to the ghosts and portraits, do not stray into the forbidden forest, and don't hex your prefects.  I hope you will all strive to bring honor to this institution, and to make this year a productive one.  Now, with that said, off to bed and goodnight.” The students stood and as a mass crowded out of the hall.  Prefects stood on the bench and called for first years.  

Spock and Pasha stood where they were, waiting for the crowd to clear.  

A hand reached out from the mass of students and shoved Pasha as they passed.

“Hy!” he yelped as he stumbled backwards into the table.  

Spock craned her neck in an attempt to see who had done this, but her height and the crowd prevented her from locating the culprit.  

“You alright?” James Kirk asked as he helped Pasha up.  

There was another boy with him, Gryffindor, though he appeared older.  

“Da, yes, I’m alright,” Pasha said, red faced.  

“Was it 2 lads with dark hair, lass?” The older boy asked her.  He had a thick scottish accent.  

“Yes.  They attempted to antagonize us during dinner, but we ignored them,” she told him.  He looked curiously at her ears, but did not comment.  

“Aye thats probably Gary and Jason, they’re bastards,” he told them.  “I’m Montgomery Scott, call me Scotty.”  He introduced himself.   _Perhaps he is related to th Douglas Scott of my year._

“I’m Pavel Andreivich Chekov, call me Pasha,” Pasha told both the boys.  

James Kirk grinned.  

“I’m Jim,” he said simply.  Both boys looked to Scott.  

“I am Spock Grayson, of the house of S’chn T’Gai.  Thank you for assisting Pasha.  I believe it is time for us to go to our dorms, as the prefects appear ready to leave.” She informed them.  She required a period of meditation before she slept, and desired to unpack as well.  

“Oh, our first years have just gone. Let’s go lad, I’ll show you where it is.” Scotty told Jim.  

“See you tomorow,” Jim called as they hurried after their prefect.  She and Pasha made haste towards their own, and caught up as they began to leave.  In the hallways portraits shouted greetings at the passing students.

“Good luck first years!” a boy from a painting of the battle of Hogwarts shouted.

“Now hurry, because the stairs are likely to change if you don't!” the prefect shouted over their shoulder.  The Ravenclaw first years moved slightly faster as they cllimbed the stairs.  

“Is that an elf?” One of the portraits asked.  

Now the figures in the portrait seemed to notice her in particular.  

“Excuse me, you there miss, are you an elf?”  A man dressed in pink velvet robes asked.  

“No, I am Vulcan,” she told him, before continuing up the stairs.  

A gaggle of witches pointed at her as she passed.  

“What is that?” They whispered loudly.

“She’s Wulcan leave her alone!” Pasha told them.  

“Whats a wulcan?” one of the witches asked.

Spock ignored the portraits, as she ignored the whispers in Diagon Alley, as she ignored the pointed looks on the streets of ShiKahr.  Finally, the prefect led them down a hallway, to a door with no handle.  Instead there was a knocker in the shape of an eagled.  Her mother had told her about this.  

The prefect knocked, and the eagle opened it's eyes and looked at them all.  

“The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?” It asked.  All the students looked at each other, or at the ground, brows wrinkled.  

Spock began to consider possiblities.  

“Footsteps,” Chekov said.  He was the shortest of the group, even shorter than herself.  

“Correct,” the eagle said, and the door swung open.  They all shuffled inside.  The room was a wide circle, with windows all around.  There were curtains of blue and bronze silk, drawn for the evening. The carpet was a midnight blue, with stars, and the ceiling reflected it.  The wind whistled around  the tower, and there was a steady drumming rain.

“Boys go up the stair to the right, girls the stairs on the left, all others the flight of stairs behind the tapestry.  Should you feel the need to be placed in a different dorm during your stay, alert one of your house prefects and it will be arranged.  Lights out is in 20 minutes.” All of this was said by a girl with short brown hair, who had not told them her name.  Spock was fatigued, however, so she did not inquire.  

They made their way to the stairs and she and Pasha bid each other goodnight.  In her dorm there were 5 four poster beds, arranged so they were close, but with enough distance for some privacy.  Her trunk was next to the bed, and Sylvia slept at the foot of her bed, curled up contentedly.   There was a dome top trunk at the end of every bed, and a narrow wardrobe to the right. Next to the door was dirty laundry hamper. Spock took off her cloak and hung it up first.  The other girls were chatting as they unpacked, but Spock went about her task quietly.  The rest of her clothing went in the wardrobe, and she carefully arranged her books and shoes in the dome top trunk.  Her socks, gloves, and various other accessories went in the drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe.  Finally, she pulled the ribbons out of her hair and took her thick braid down. It was curled after 13.825 hours of being braided, and she ran her hands through it to loosen it. Spock took her flannel nightgown along with her toiletries to the bathroom, and quickly completed the necessities. The cool air made her shiver as she changed into her floorlength nightgown.  In the dormitory she placed her worn clothing in the laundry hamper and climbed into bed, drawing the curtains and commencing meditation.  It had been a tiring day.

**Author's Note:**

> so this chapter and the next one is sorta Sarek/Amanda i just kinda wanted to lay the ground work. let me know what you think!


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